


The Vintage Calendar

by thetranquilteal



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, End Game: Jamie x Claire, F/M, Gen, Happy Ending, Inspired by The Holiday Calendar, Slow Burn, don't come at me, everything I know about ice hockey I learned watching The Mighty Ducks movies, fictional ice hockey league, ice hockey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:47:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 47,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27795622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetranquilteal/pseuds/thetranquilteal
Summary: With the ending of her contract with the UK Armed Forces, all Claire Beauchamp wants for Christmas is to enjoy a quiet holiday in Scotland with her long-term boyfriend Frank Randall. While visiting with close friends, however, Claire is gifted with a vintage advent calendar that sets her life on a path she never expected... one that leads to Northern Badgers star, James Fraser.Modern Day AU loosely based on the Netflix Christmas movie ‘The Holiday Calendar’.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Frank Randall, Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 755
Kudos: 332





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to The Vintage Calendar! I hope you enjoy this Hallmark-esque tale and I wish you all a happy holiday. A x

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 30

“Now then, dear, tell me. What are your plans for Christmas?”

“Just a quiet day together, I think,” Claire sipped at her tea as she thought on her answer. It hadn’t been a long drive from their B&B in Inverness to the Reverend’s Manse but in truth she was still exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sit down and enjoy a hot cuppa, Christmas being the last thing on her mind. “I’m not sure if Frank mentioned, but I’ve not celebrated for some years now.”

“Oh?” Mrs Graham sipped at her own cup casually and Claire appreciated the lack of judgement in her voice.

“I always loved the holiday as a small child - the lights, the festivities, the magic of it all - but with no family to celebrate with and seeing the things that I have over the years... I suppose I’ve turned into quite the Scrooge,” Claire chuckled. “That being said, even if we did decide to do something for Christmas I would still request a quiet day in. No work. No responsibilities,” she sighed happily at the thought. “That’s all I could ever want.”

“Frank mentioned you were stationed overseas, a time or two?”

“That’s correct,” Claire nodded. “My primary role as an Army Nurse was with overseas Medical Regiments. And I enjoyed it, I truly did - it was a very rewarding career and incredibly satisfying - but most recently I was assigned to one of the local Defence Medical Group Hospitals and after a couple of months… well, I realised how tired I was. It was like I had lost that spark that kept me going for so long. By the time renewal for my contract came around I knew I had done all that I needed to do. That it was time for a change.”

“Starting with a holiday in Inverness.”

“Yes,” Claire smiled happily. “It was a hard decision to leave the Armed Forces after so many years but there are so many more options to explore as a civilian _and_ it means spending more time with Frank.” She turned to look at her boyfriend sitting over at the table with Reverend Wakefield, a multitude of papers and books open in front of them. The look on his face as they studied was one that she had most certainly missed.

“Long distance relationships can be difficult,” Mrs Graham acknowledged and Claire turned back to her.

“It feels as though we hardly know each other these days,” Claire admitted quietly. “I’m really looking forward to spending an entire month together with nothing to distract us. I think that’s what we need at this point.”

“Well, if you decide you would like some company come Christmas you are always welcome here at the Manse. Reginald would certainly love to have you both here, as would I,” without waiting for an answer, Mrs Graham continued. “Now, drink up your cup and let’s see what we’ve got there.”

Claire wasn’t at all surprised by the request. Upon their arrival in Inverness, Frank had forewarned her of Mrs Graham’s ‘eccentricities’. Reading tea leaves, she understood, was but one of the older lady’s many hobbies. She tipped up her cup and swallowed the last of her tea before handing it over.

“Well?” Claire joked as she watched Mrs Graham tip her cup this way and that. “Am I going to meet a tall, dark stranger and take a trip across the sea?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Mrs Graham smiled briefly before becoming more serious, her brow creased in contemplation. “There’s an angel which means good news, especially good fortune in love,” she tilted her head, “a clover which means happiness and prosperity that, being near the top of the cup, will likely come quickly. And would you look at that… you might well be right about going on a journey, though not across the sea: the swallow indicates a journey with a pleasant ending. Show me your hand, dear.”

Claire did as requested and waited patiently as she studied the lines on her hand. To her surprise Mrs. Graham simply let go and pushed her chair back. 

“Wait here, dear. I’ll be back in a wee moment.” 

Claire leaned back and considered everything the older woman had mentioned. Growing up and travelling the world with her Uncle Lambert, she had heard and witnessed many things that were different, unusual - and oftentimes seemingly unexplainable - but she never could say she believed in the spiritual. Faith, even, was something she had come to question during her time in the Force but she couldn’t deny she liked the tale Mrs Graham had told. Good fortune, happiness and prosperity were all things she wished for - as did most other people, admittedly. She stood when Mrs Graham returned with a large wooden item in her arms, something house shaped with little numbered doors all over.

“An advent calendar?” Claire asked.

“Aye, t’was my grandmother’s once upon a time. And her grandmother’s before that.” Mrs Graham placed the calendar down on the table gently. “And now I want you to have it, Claire.”

“Me?”

“Why, yes.”

“Oh, Mrs. Graham. I couldn’t possibly. Surely your children should be the ones to receive a family heirloom? Didn’t you say your son and daughter-in-law were planning to start a family of their own? I’m sure they would appreciate such a beautiful item.” 

And beautiful it was. While it was evident it had been crafted a long time ago, the paint remained unblemished and the detailing in perfect condition. Its colours, soft and neutral l rather than bold and tacky like so many contemporary decorations, appealed to her in particular.

“This calendar has been passed down through many a generation,’ Mrs. Graham nodded in agreement, ‘but... no’ necessarily in the family - though it does seem to keep coming back every now and again. I believe this calendar goes to those who need it rather than those who happen upon it."

“Your gift is so incredibly kind, I’m touched.” Claire meant every word but she couldn’t help but ask, “Are you _sure_ you wouldn’t like to give something so special to someone else? Someone who loves celebrating Christmas, perhaps?”

“No, dear, I’m certain. I already knew your opinion on Christmas before giving it to you,” she reminded her. “Besides, you dinnae ken, this old thing might just change your mind.” 

Claire looked down at the vintage advent calendar, the intrinsic details even more breath-taking at close range. While she could concede that it was an incredible piece and would look rather wonderful placed on the dresser in the living space at Mrs Baird’s B&B...

 _A vintage advent calendar changing her view on Christmas?_ **_Unlikely._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Mrs Graham’s tea leaf interpretations are real interpretations from ‘Tea-cup Reading and Fortune-Telling by Tea Leaves’ by A Highland Seer (2006). 
> 
> Are you as sceptical of the vintage calendar as Claire? Let me know what you think!


	2. Candy Cane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 1

Claire wrapped her dressing gown around her a little tighter as she shuffled across the living space to the kitchenette, early morning light guiding the way. She placed the kettle on the stove and set about preparing tea, her cold hands fumbling with the canister.

“Still cold, love?” Frank came up behind her and rubbed his hands up and down her arms gently, trying to generate some heat. 

“Yes,” she admitted with a light laugh as she wrapped her dressing gown around her a little tighter still. Mrs Baird’s Bed and Breakfast was quaint and in an ideal location, in the very centre of Inverness, but it was not as warm and cosy as she would have liked. “I just can’t seem to shake it.”

“Here,” he took the spoon out of her hand and guided her out of the way, “let me finish the tea. You go and sit by the fire.”

“Thank you,” she kissed him on the cheek and made her way around the couch towards the purple armchair that had caught her eye the moment they entered their accommodation. She paused, though, when the vintage calendar caught her eye. 

“Frank?” Claire called.

“Hmm?”

“Did you open this?”

“Open what, darling?” 

“The calendar that Mrs. Graham gave us.”

“No, I haven’t had the chance to have a closer look yet. Is there there something for today, then?”

“Yes,” Claire’s brow furrowed as she reached out and picked up the little figurine sitting in the already open doorway. “It’s a little candy cane.” 

* * *

The sun had long since set by the time Claire wandered the streets of downtown Inverness looking for somewhere to stop for a warm drink. Sparkling lights and Christmas decorations adorned each side and muffled festive tunes could be heard from many of the doorways she passed. She couldn’t bring herself to walk through any of them however, the lights seemingly too bright and vibe feeling too thick, and instead kept walking, taking turns here and there looking for somewhere a little more quiet to spend her evening without Frank. 

It had been a productive day, first studying various heavy tomes with the Reverend at the Manse and then a few hours spent at the local library looking over what Claire considered to be mounds of papers brought to them by the librarian, a large eyed woman with thick glasses, all too happy to deliver more than they could possibly read to their table along with what seemed to be a never ending cup of candy canes. It was there Frank had discovered a new lead, a handwritten note suggesting some rituals performed during yuletide centuries ago had a deeper and more intricate history than previously believed. Seeing the light spark in his eyes, Claire had encouraged him to continue his research and told him not to worry about their plan to spend the evening together - they had a whole month in town and one evening spent apart wouldn’t ruin anything after all. 

The streets got darker and Claire subsequently got calmer, slowing her walk to a much more casual stroll, a warm looking restaurant now set in her sights. Suddenly a door opened to her left and a group of people flowed out, merriment evident in their faces if not their voices, each carrying boxes of what looked to be homemade Christmas decorations. She instinctively moved to the side to get out of the way, just barely dodging a stray oversized candy cane to the head and waited patiently in the entrance of an alleyway for them to pass. 

“Druid!”

Claire jumped and turned to find an older man standing in an unassuming doorway staring at her. He was dressed in a shirt and kilt that had certainly seen better days and she looked around quickly to make sure that he was, in fact, looking at her before responding. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Druid!" The man repeated, waving for her to come in. "Ach, come on lass! I cannae stand here waiting for ye all night. Come in before ye attract attention!” 

“I don’t-”

Obviously frustrated by her hesitation, the man grabbed her hand and pulled her inside, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man so seemingly agitated. 

She stumbled slightly but regained her balance in time to watch the man leave her just as quickly as he had found her to join a group of men huddled on one side of the establishment. She pushed her indignation aside for a moment to look around and - found a very ordinary tavern. It made sense that she hadn’t noticed this place herself, she thought. It was free from glitz, glamour and - perhaps most significantly - any holiday glitter. Overall, it was rather dark and grungy with lanterns and fireplaces providing a warmth she hadn’t experienced all day. 

Determined to remain calm after such an undignified entrance, she squared her shoulders and walked up to the bar, raising a hand to attract the attention of the barkeep. 

“Local cider, please.” 

The man nodded and Claire settled herself on a stool and, feeling less conspicuous, took her time studying her surroundings more closely. Individuals and small groups were scattered here and there, their collective chatter on par with the music playing through speakers overhead. 

She accepted her drink and handed over the required amount of cash. She took a sip and smiled at the taste. _'Life was too short to not enjoy the drink in your hand'_ as her old Commanding Officer used to say. Half way through her drink the group of men huddled by one of the open fireplaces caught her attention again when a pained grunt travelled across the room. 

_Just ignore it, Beauchamp. Enjoy your drink, Beauchamp,_ she thought to herself and for a moment she managed to do just that. Until she couldn’t stand it any longer. "Dammit, Beauchamp." 

Claire got up, drink still in hand, and made her way over, their discussion becoming clearer with every step.

“Well, what if I-”

“-I dinnae need yer help!”

“Ye cannae-”

“-one phone call-”

“For the love of-”

There, amongst five or so men, each talking over the top of one another, was a young red haired man sitting on a chair cradling his arm. So busy arguing amongst themselves, they barely noticed her presence. 

“It’s fine-”

“-force the joint back, myself.”

“Don’t you dare!” Without thinking, Claire pushed through to stand in front of the injured man. “Stand aside at once!”

“What??”

“Stand aside, she says!”

“Here,” she turned to the loud and overly short bearded man closest to her and handed him her glass. “Hold this.”

“Hold this, she says!” 

Claire tuned out the discussion around them and focused on the task at hand. 

“Now, what’s happened?”

“Ugh,” the patient grunted as he shifted in his seat, “landed on the ice wrong. Cannae lift my arm without it hurtin’.”

“How long ago?”

“An hour mayhap.” 

Claire nodded in understanding and reached out a hand. “May I?” 

The man looked at her for a long moment before taking a swig from a glass on the table and visibility gritting his teeth in anticipation. He nodded his consent. 

“Do you have a history of instability in this shoulder?” She asked as she palpated the area gently.

“I’ve dislocated it once before,” he admitted with a grimace.

“Or twice,” a gruff and somewhat familiar voice added in, the man responsible for... _introducing_ her to this pub, she suspected. 

“Or twice,” her patient reluctantly admitted. “But no’ in a long while.”

“Hmmm… you really ought to see a doctor. Are there any clinics open this time of night?” When he didn’t answer she turned to look at the other men who in turn were equally nonvocal and completely unhelpful. “No? Well, it looks to me like you’ve suffered from shoulder subluxation - a partial dislocation, that is - and it’s fixed itself already. So long as you keep your arm immobile and make sure to rest, I don’t see why you can’t wait to see your doctor tomorrow.” Decision made, Claire stood up and turned to the others. “Fetch me a long piece of cloth or a belt. And some ice from the bar.”

"Fetch me, she says!”

“Ach, shut up ye drunk eejit and do as the lady says,” a tall, bald headed man with a thick grey beard Claire hadn’t noticed before came forward, his authority evident in how quickly the so-called ‘drunk eejit’ complied.

Requests quickly in hand, she turned back to her waiting patient and went about efficiently setting his arm in a sling, the young man following her movements closely. 

“Taking a guess you’ve done this before?” 

“I’m a nurse,” Claire shared as she pulled the knot tight.

“Aye, you work at the hospital? I havenae seen ye there before.”

“No, not that kind of nurse,” Claire chuckled at Jamie’s confused look and handed him the ice pack before clarifying. “An Army Nurse. But now I have to say I'm curious. Do you frequent the hospital often, Mr…?”

“Fraser," he paused as if waiting for something. A particular reaction from her perhaps? "But you can call me Jamie.” 

“Beauchamp,” she reciprocated with a smile. “But you can call me Claire. Under normal circumstances I would offer to shake your hand but considering your current predicament I must advise against it and instead remind you to keep the ice on your shoulder for no longer than 15 to 20 minutes at a time. Do you have a physical therapist?”

“Aye, he does,” the bald headed man came forward once again, a hand on Jamie’s good shoulder. “And I’ll make sure he sees them on the morrow.”

“Wonderful,” Claire nodded with pleasure and turned back to Jamie, hands planted firmly on her hips. “Now, I believe you owe me a drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Candy canes. Candy canes everywhere! From here we diverge from canon-adjacent and take a path that is much more Hallmark. Are you looking forward to seeing what figurine will be waiting for Claire tomorrow?


	3. Egg Nog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 2

Claire yawned widely as she switched out her usual tea for strong coffee. Despite staying for only one more drink at the pub the night before she was tired but a long instilled habit had her up and about as early as usual - something that would only prove helpful considering the full day she and Frank had planned. 

Somewhat blindly, she shuffled over to the vintage calendar, warm cup in hand. She was only slightly less surprised than yesterday to find a new door already open, this time a little cup-shaped figurine sitting inside. 

Claire pulled it out and held it up in the light to have a closer look. It was a goblet filled with eggnog complete with whipped cream and a sprinkle of spice on top. She placed it down next to the little candy cane that had been set on the mantle above. Out of curiosity she pulled on the door labelled ‘3’. It held fast, however, refusing to give way no matter the angle she used or how much effort she put into pulling it open. Eventually she gave up, letting go to cover yet another yawn with her hand. She was much too tired to fight with an inanimate object or to even think about it too closely. 

_Perhaps later. After coffee. A_ **_lot_ ** _of coffee._

* * *

Claire looked down at the evening Christmas menu and wrinkled her nose.

“Excuse me,” she called out to the waitress walking past. “Is it possible to order something not on offer this evening?”

“Yes, of course, dearie. What would you like?” When Claire paused in thought the woman continued. “How about some of our famous Scotch Broth? Or perhaps some roast grouse?”

Frank looked up from his phone. “Grouse? I take one of those.”

“And the broth for me please,” Claire added with a smile. “Thank you.”

“And anything to drink?” The waitress looked at each of them in turn.

“A bottle of merlot will do,” Frank answered for the both of them before turning back to his phone.

“Thank you,” Claire repeated on both his and her behalf and settled in for the wait.

Just like the other establishments they had dined at between their visits to Castle Leoch and Cocknammon Rock that day, this family restaurant was decorated in gaudy garlands and lights, with random ornaments and decorations scattered throughout. Claire fingered the plastic poinsettia on the middle of their table. While she would have preferred to dine somewhere less festive, she had been much more interested in sitting down somewhere warm enough to take off her coat and mittens and had happily agreed to the first place Frank suggested they enter. 

After their wine was served Frank finally put his phone face down on the table and their meal was served with a flourish. Thankfully the food was good, leaving her warm and content just as she had hoped, and by the time they ordered another bottle of wine, she felt more relaxed than she had all day.

“What day in January are you due back at Oxford?’ Claire asked as Frank topped up her glass once more. “The fourth?”

“I’ve a meeting with the dean on the fourth," Frank nodded, "but I’m not scheduled to resume teaching classes until the 7th. Have you decided what you’re going to do with all your free time?”

“I’ve set up a meeting with the contractors to get the foundations for the greenhouse started as soon as possible," Claire's face grew warm, both from the way Frank was looking at her and her excitement at sharing her plans. "Construction will be limited by the weather, of course, but it’s only small - no more than half of the backyard will be undercover so it shouldn’t take too long. While that’s happening, I’ll work on my written proposal and once that’s done I’ll focus on my personal research until the new semester starts.”

“Why do you feel the need to study, again? Surely gardening doesn’t require a degree. Housewives and caretakers all over the country have managed just fine without one - for centuries, I do believe”. 

“Ethnobotany, Frank,” she wacked Frank on the arm playfully. “Not _gardening_. How many times do I have to tell you? I’ve plans to cultivate a garden that I’ll use as part of my research into the traditional uses of medicinal plants as well as earn some money on the side. Before too long the garden should be paying for itself.” In all honesty she was quite excited, if not a little proud of herself, for making the decision to try something new. While she had always been intrigued by botany and differing uses between locations and cultures, she had never stayed in one place long enough - nor had the time - to study anything long term.

“Well, it sounds like a wonderful idea,” Frank agreed happily. “It will give you something to do while I’m at work. I’m hoping the information I gather while here in Inverness will be exactly what I need to finish my book. If so, I’ll likely be spending more time at the office over the next couple of months.”

Claire knew how significant it was to publish a book when you worked in the world of academia and that this could result in a raise, if not a promotion, for Frank. Still, she wished they would have more time to spend together. She leaned forward, her chin in her hands and battered her eyelashes. 

“Perhaps you could spend some of your evenings in your office at home,” she suggested. 

“I’m not sure… it might be too much of a distraction having you around,” Frank teased as he reached out and tugged on one of her curls gently. For a moment they smiled at one another and then Frank picked up his phone once more. “It’s getting late. Shall we head out?” 

Claire nodded and quickly swallowed the last of her wine as Frank stood up and headed to the register to pay for their meal. Seeing that he would be a little while she moved over to the community notice board near the door and browsed all that was on offer. 

Brightly coloured pieces of paper of different shapes and sizes announced ice hockey schedules, Christmas Fairs and various fundraisers overlapped, all overlapping each other haphazardly. One large professional poster stood out above the rest. ‘ _Highland Midwinter Festival hosted by the Inverness Ice Arena: Home to the Northern Badgers! December 3 - 23_ ’ bold letters announced, a number of events listed underneath ending with what looked to be a party of some kind. She shifted through the surrounding flyers, looking for something she and Frank might be interested in attending while in town. She was disappointed, however, to only find more holiday-themed events and quickly gave it up as a bad job. She turned to find Frank walking towards her, a take-away cup in each hand. 

“What’s this?” Claire asked as Frank handed one over.

“Eggnog for the walk home,” Claire raised an eyebrow and he shrugged defensively. “By the time I realised the girl at the register had asked me something while I wasn’t paying attention I simply nodded - and before I knew it I was walking away with these. It wasn't _my_ idea, I assure you!”

Claire let out a laugh and kissed him chastely on the lips then looped her free arm through his. 

“Come on then, let’s get out of here before you do something _really_ wild like buy us Christmas cookies for dessert.”

“We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because we are going day by day some chapters (like this one) will be shorter than others but don’t worry - they will typically get longer as the story progresses (and we see more of Jamie). What figurine do you think could be behind door number three?


	4. Tickets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 3

“What do you suppose this is?”

Claire handed the little figurine to Frank and took her now regular place across from him at the breakfast table, pulling the plate full of warm toast closer.

“Hmm,” Frank tilted his head slightly. “Some sort of paper... tickets I would say. Is this from the calendar? Not very festive, is it?” 

* * *

“Hello, darling.” Frank said as he walked through the door of their room, pulling his thick blue scarf from his neck as he went. “I’ve a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Intrigued, Claire closed her borrowed copy of _The Wild Flower Key: How to Identify Wild Flowers, Trees and Shrubs in Britain and Ireland_ and unfolded her legs, somewhat stiff from spending hours in her favourite armchair.

He pulled two pieces of paper out of his jacket pocket and handed them to her with a flourish. 

“Tickets?” She paused for a moment - then looked over to the little ticket ornament sitting on the mantle and back again at the tickets Frank had gifted her with, her forehead scrunching in thought. She shook her head slightly. _Coincidence._

“To say thank you for being patient while I research. I know we planned on spending all of our time here in Scotland together… and I thought perhaps it would be fun to attend an event together. Tonight. Just the two of us.” 

“Forgive me, Frank,” Claire said as she read the words ‘ _Nottingham Panthers vs Northern Badgers_ ’ twice over, “but when have either of us ever considered _sport_ to be fun? Let alone romantic?”

“Never,” Frank chuckled as he seated himself in the armchair next to her. “I sought out Mrs. Baird’s opinion on what the locals like to do during the evening and she assured me attending an ice hockey game was something we ‘simply must do’. And I know that you're interested in trying new things… so, why not?”

“It could be fun,” Claire agreed, a smile growing on her face. “How many layers do you think I’ll need to wear at an ice arena?”

The answer, it turned out, was not nearly as many as she has chosen to wear. Settling into their assigned front row seats, she shed her overcoat and mittens and looked around. With twenty minutes to go until… _kick off? ...first whistle? ..the start??_ she had assumed they were early but the bleachers were already full, people of all ages chatting amongst themselves as what looked to be young players ran drills on the ice.

Her question as to whether or not they were attending a children’s match was answered when the crowd cheered loudly and a fully grown team of players made their way onto the ice and joined in on running drills. 

Claire pulled out her phone and turned on the reverse camera.

“Frank, let’s take a photo,” she positioned the camera above eye level as Frank moved in closer and put an arm around her shoulders. “Smile.”

She snapped the pic and uploaded it to her favourite social media account adding ‘ _A night out at Inverness Ice Arena #NHL #NORTHERNBADGERS #INVERNESSICEARENA #FIRSTHOCKEYGAME #HELP #WEDONTKNOWTHERULES_ ’. The younger players exited the rink, making way for the opposing team and Claire tucked her phone away in her pocket. Soon enough the puck was dropped and the game was on. The players moved quickly, sometime too quickly for Claire’s opinion. 

“COME ON! MacKenzie! YES!”

“...Oof!”

“BAD-GERS! BAD-GERS! BAD-”

“Oh, come ON, ref!!”

The crowd was vocal enough but she found it didn’t help at all and while the ref would pause the game every now and again for whatever reason, giving her a chance to catch up, she had no idea what was happening. Never one to give up, she decided to change tactics and take it all in stride, sitting back in her chair and relaxing while Frank made his way to the canteen to buy them each a warm drink. 

Excitement within the arena reached new heights when the Badgers scored a goal just as the first buzzer sounded. The scoring player took off his helmet and looped the rink in celebration, a large grin on his face as he wiped his brow with his sleeve. He was quickly swamped by now familiar looking teammates.

“Frank,” Claire nudged him with her elbow. “Frank!”

“Hmm? What’s happened? Did someone score a goal?”

“Never mind that,” Claire started to grow frustrated by his unwillingness to look up from his phone when she was bordering on freaking out. “I think I know some of the players!”

“Some of the players?” He repeated, finally looking up, one eyebrow raised. “How could you possibly know them?”

“Do you have the program?” 

Frank pulled out the aforementioned booklet and handed it to her. She flipped through it until she found the home team. 

“Look!” She pointed to the player at the top and read aloud, “‘ _James Fraser, captain of the Northern Badgers’_. The other night, when I went to the pub by myself - do you remember me telling you? About the man who suffered a partially dislocated shoulder? That’s him! I had no idea.” There on the page were some of the other men she had met that night; Rupert MacKenzie, Angus Mhor, Willie Thomson and their coach, Dougal MacKenzie, was none-other than the bald headed man who had demanded they follow her instructions that night. Claire laughed. “It certainly explains a lot.” 

She studied the program more closely as they waited for the game to resume. Built in the 1930s, Inverness Ice Arena was one of the oldest rinks in the country and the oldest to host an NHL team. She looked around, the rink’s age more evident now. The fading Badgers mural on the eastern wall added to the arena’s charm and the limited seating gave a sense of community, she thought. She flipped to the last page and found all the social media handles.

She pulled out her phone and typed in _Northern Badgers_ into the search engine. 

She clicked on the first result generated: @NorthernBadgersOfficial. _‘_ _The official account of the Northern Badgers: proudly sponsored by @Rent1743 #LetsGoBadgers_ ’ the caption read, a photo of the team holding a large trophy in the header. She scrolled through the feed leisurely, the most recent photo of the team posing alongside a number of boys and girls announcing opening day of the Highland Midwinter Festival followed by various action shots interspersed with clips of winning goals, photos with VIP ticket holders and #FunFacts about each of the players.

Claire paused on Jamie’s smiling headshot.

‘ _Badgers Captain James Fraser is better known as Seumas Ruadh, or Red Jamie, because of his distinguishable hair colour #LetsGoBadgers #NHLFunFacts #SeumasRuadh._ ’

The crowd grew louder as the players returned to ice and Claire once again put her phone away and stood to cheer along with the rest. This time she followed the game much more closely and, so swept up in the atmosphere, yelling and clapping alongside everyone else, for the first time in a long time found she wasn’t bothered by Frank choosing to read on his phone over anything else.

By the time there was just 5 minutes left on the board the Badgers were well ahead, 4 goals to 1, and she still had little to no idea what was happening but was confident in her ability to gauge if it was positive or negative for the Badgers. After a particularly nasty crash and one of the players was escorted off the ice by a referee she felt compelled to ask the person sitting to her left.

“Sorry, what happened?” 

“Mhor obstructed number twelve,” the person answered without taking their eyes off the game, his violently blue Badgers beanie threatening to fall off his head at any given moment. How it was still on, she would love to know. “That’s two minutes in the box. COME ON BADGERS!”

Claire nodded to herself, happy enough to pretend she understood what he just said. 

The anonymity of being part of such an active and noisy crowd was freeing in a way that surprised her. “Come on Badgers!" She mimicked his pose, cupping her hands around her mouth. "WOO!”

Bodies were falling to the ice inside the rink, beer was being spilled to the floor outside of it and the crowd got rowdier with every passing second. Mhor was quickly back on the ice and as feisty as ever, determined to make up for lost time through both speed and aggression.

The buzzer sounded and the game was finally over and, although the Badgers’ win came as no surprise, the crowd cheered and the team celebrated as though it was. Players high fived the children as they made their way off the ice, their excitement at being treated as part of the team palpable even at a distance. 

“So, what did you think?” Frank asked as shrugged on his coat and then moved to help Claire with hers. “A must do, just as Mrs. Baird advised?”

Claire flicked her hair out of her collar and pulled on her mittens. “I’m not sure I would go that far,” she laughed, “but it certainly was an enjoyable experience, no?”

“I don’t think anything could make me a fan of sport but I certainly enjoyed seeing you smile tonight. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“So you’ll take me again, if there happens to be another game while we're in town?” Claire purposefully kept a straight face, knowing full well what Frank’s answer would be.

  
“Ah…” Frank paused and Claire let go of the grin she was holding onto. Frank caught on and shook his head at her, a hearty chuckle expressing that sense of humour she knew lurked below the surface of his serious exterior. “Perhaps you should ask _Mrs. Baird_ to join you next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure if in The Holiday Calendar Josh can give Abby a pair of boots the day she pulls miniature boots from her calendar, Frank can give Claire tickets on the day she pulls miniature tickets from hers ;) . Have you watched The Holiday Calendar and, if so, on a scale of The Grinch to Home Alone how much do you love it?


	5. Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 4

Claire smiled at the miniature horse in her hand. It was exceptionally sweet, its body primarily hand painted white with intricate features including a red and green bridle and saddle. She added it to the growing line of figurine on the mantle before moving away to get ready for the day.

* * *

Claire and Frank studied the recently acquired _Guide to Winter in Inverness_ as they stood side by side on the corner of High and Hamilton looking for something to do. 

Apparently much more affected by attending the ice hockey match the night before than he had initially let on, Frank had refused to again ask Mrs Baird what they might do together once he finished work for the day. That left them with a long list of generic activities designed for the most average of tourists: painting classes, cooking classes, wine tasting… and all with a festive twist. 

“This might be interesting,” said Claire before reading out loud, “ _Inverness Museum and Art Gallery hosts_ ,” she scrunched her nose, “ _Holiday Lights Around The World_. Why is it so hard to find something that isn’t Christmas related?” With a sigh she folded up the guide and tucked it into her bag. “What are we going to do?”

“Let’s simply take a walk,” he held out his arm for Claire to loop hers through and headed east. “Your company is more than enough for me, my dear.”

It was enough for Claire too. 

The freedom of having no direction, no timetable and no need to talk about anything other than the here and now was much more enjoyable than participating in a random activity alongside a group of strangers. By the time they had enjoyed a hot takeaway drink and ended up on the Northern side of town she was both relaxed and very much content with their decision. 

Just as she opened her mouth to suggest they finally head back to the B&B a loud jingle caught their attention. There stationed on the side of a quiet road, was a horse drawn carriage, a coachman brushing down one of the draft horses. Instantly Claire was drawn to them and the coachman looked up as they approached.

“Guid evenin’,” the older man tilted his cap in their direction, “sir, ma’am.”

“Good evening. Your horses are very beautiful,” Claire gestured to the horses. “They remind me very much of Percheron that lived over the fence when I was a small child. I have very fond memories of spending time with her - not that my parents nor our neighbours ever knew,” she added with a laugh.

“Thank ye, ma’am, I’m rather fond of ‘em meself. This ‘ere’s Dougie and that’s Thistle - name’s Archie meself.”

“Claire,” she reciprocated, “and this is my boyfriend Frank.”

“Weel, it’s lovely to meet ye both. Would you an’ yer man like to go fer a ride?”

“No, thank you,” said Frank, “we’re actually not too far from our accommodation. Claire, here, just enjoys strolling down memory lane.”

“Well, dinnae disappoint the lass, then. Come, come,” the coachman gestured them towards the carriage, “we would be pleased to guide ye home at no charge - no matter how short the journey. These two get anxious standin’ ‘round too long. Ye’ll be doin’ all of us a favour, ye will.”

Frank went to shake his head but Claire responded first. 

“Oh, Frank, let’s! It would be a fitting end to a wonderful evening,” she tilted her head and smiled sweetly. Frank sighed and she knew that was as good as a verbal agreement.

“Payment will not be a problem, I assure you,” he stated as the coachman held out his hand to help Claire up into the open carriage and she rolled her eyes to herself. _Men and their sensitivities. Honestly._

Once everyone was settled in their respective seats Archie looked at them over his shoulder. “Now, would ye prefer the quick route or the scenic route?”

Claire looked to Frank who nodded. “The scenic route, please.” 

For the first time since being in town, Claire found she appreciated the never-ending Christmas lights adorning the streets of Inverness. Reflecting upon the white snow, they provided an ambiance that could never be captured without. Despite the late hour, the main streets were still full of people bustling to and fro and Claire was pleased when they turned down a quieter path. Claire looked up at Frank and smiled at the look of happiness on his face. “Having a pleasant time, darling?” 

“I must admit, I find this to be quite an enjoyable way to spend an evening,” he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in a little closer. “Much more so than attending a noisy game that I don’t at all follow. You did well.”

He leaned in for a kiss and- 

The carriage jostled to the side suddenly and they each grasped for a handhold as the coachman worked to calm the horses, the sound of multiple voices, some yelling, some shouting, cascading towards them from the other end of the street.

They watched as a brown blur galloped passed and they turned in their seat to follow the commotion. Suddenly it reared up, and a small child in a red beanie and coat slid off the stallion’s bare back into a pile of snow. Claire jumped out of the now stationary carriage and ran over as quickly as she could, wishing her boots had better grip on the slick pavement.

She found the child and dropped to her knees. “Are you alright?”

The boy groaned and she did her best to quickly assess his head and thickly clothed limbs for any broken bones.

“What’s your name?”

“Fergus,” the boy breathed.

“It’s nice to meet you Fergus. My name’s Claire. Can you tell me if anything hurts?” Fergus shook his head. “Did you hit your head on the way down?” Another shake of his head. “Okay, that’s good,” she smiled encouragingly. “Let’s get you up.”

Fergus took her hand and let her pull him up into a sitting position, the other trying to right his beanie on top of his dark brown curls.

“That was…” Fergus popped up on his feet suddenly, “MAGNIFIQUE!”

“Wh-”

“Shh!” Fergus grabbed her sleeve and pulled her down with him to a crouch in the shadows behind the snow bank.

A grey haired man walked past, the horse in question now tethered to his hand by a makeshift bridle. He was muttering to himself but the words “damn kids”, “stealing” and “wait until” made the topic clear enough. 

As soon the man was far enough away Fergus stood once again.

“Merci, Claire. Bonsoir!”

And he was off and running this time in the other direction. 

Claire stood and brushed the snow off her coat feeling slightly shocked by it all.

“Claire,” Frank came up and put a hand on her arm, “is everything alright?”

“I think so…?” She chuckled and shook her head. “Fergus, a young boy with a French accent, seems to have stolen a horse only to ride it bareback through the streets and after falling off said horse… seems to have now run off to avoid punishment for his transgressions.”

“Or perhaps to cause _more_ chaos,” Frank suggested.

Claire laughed. “I think it’s fair to assume both are likely.”

“Yes, I agree. Now, let’s return before anything else waylays us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: The sun sets very early during winter in the highlands - which is why Claire and Frank spend most of their time together during ‘the evening’. Based on both the story so far and your knowledge of Christmas movies, how likely do you think it is we'll be seeing Jamie tomorrow?


	6. Ice Skates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 5

Claire studied the little ice skates closely. Adorned with hand painted holly and bold red laces, they reminded her of a pair her Uncle Lambert had bought her as a young child. For her 8th or 9th birthday, she thought. More distinctly she remembered her and her uncle staying in a small town somewhere in Western Europe when she had become fascinated with a team of local figure skaters; the way they glided across the ice was surreal, the skaters so confident in their movements. While she never did learn how to figure skate, she had later worn those skates almost every day they were living in Switzerland and then later in Germany, and she had been absolutely devastated when she had eventually grown out of them. 

She put the figurine up on the mantle with the others, the nostalgic smile lingering on her face long after she completed her morning routine.

* * *

Although Claire had already walked through the city park twice since being in town, this was the first time she had experienced it at dusk. And it was beautiful. Simple fairy lights adorned trees here and there, lighting their path in a way that was relaxing rather than obnoxious and annoying. She and Frank said little as they walked, their pace leisurely after enjoying such a filling meal at The Castle Tavern and each of them happy to take their time heading back to the B&B for a quiet night in.

A distant round of applause filtered through the foliage and they looked at each other.

“What do you suppose that was about?”

“I haven't a clue,” Frank held out his arm towards her, a hint of mischief on his face. “Shall we?”

Claire looped her arm through his. “Let’s.”

At the first intersection, they diverted right, interpreting the slowly increasing number of people in sight to be a sign they were literally on the right track. Soon enough a large crowd came into view, large standing spotlights highlighting the area.

“What do you think is happening?” Claire studied those around them and noticed more than one person carrying a pair of ice skates over their shoulder. “Ice skating?”

“In the park?” The sceptical look on Frank’s face made her laugh.

“You and I have both seen a lot more stranger things than ice skating in a park.”

“Too true,” Frank conceded. “All too true.”

They weaved their way through people milling about. Some were standing around with hot drinks in hand while groups of children - and some adults - were playing games, others were lined up at various food and drink stalls. Most people, they discovered as they reached a makeshift barrier, were skating leisurely on an open rink, some solo, some hand in hand and others who looked to be learning for the very first time. A group of sweaty but pleased looking people in matching costumes sat to the side removing their skates.

A symphony of beanies, mittens and Santa hats swirled around as music played and Claire found she couldn’t look away. 

“...Claire?”

She turned to find Frank looking at her expectantly. “Hmm?” 

“Would you like to?” He nodded his head towards the rink. He pulled out his wallet and started counting some cash. “I can see the rental booth over there.”

Frank held out a wad of cash and she put her hand over his rather than accept it. “Only if you come too.”

“Oh,” Frank shook his head. “No.”

Claire nodded. “Oh, yes.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Frank,” she tilted her head to the side and smiled hoping the motion would be as effective as it was the night before. “It’ll be fun.”

Rather than wait for him to come back with the same answer she pulled him along with her to the stall, tuning out his protestations. Skates quickly hired and laced up, they started slowly, hand in hand. As each of their confidences grew, they let go of each other, working on their individual pace and circuit. 

A little while later Frank caught up with her. 

“I’m going to stop for a hot drink. Would you like one?”

“Yes, please.” _That really did sound perfect._

Frank nodded and skated away cautiously, leaving Claire to continue on without him. All she had wanted, when they had arrived in Inverness, was to relax. To enjoy the quiet. To get out of her own head, if only for a little while and so far her wish was coming true. Even the hockey game they had attended, while neither peaceful nor quiet, had encouraged her to live in the moment and enjoy herself without hesitation and worrying about the potential consequences of inattention, something that had followed ever since her first deployment abroad. 

She looked around to see if she could spot Frank-

A small body brushed past, straight across her path and she slipped backwards. Her grip on the ice was reduced to air, there was nothing behind her and she panicked-

“Woah!” 

Strong hands caught her before she could hit the ice, holding her in a makeshift embrace. The person helped her back on her skates and held on as she found her balance.

“Are ye okay there, lass?”

Claire looked up and almost lost her balance again. _Out of all the people it just had to be James “Seumas Ruadh” Fraser didn’t it?_ The Badgers captain was standing slightly crouched in front of her, red curls stark against his light coloured beanie and-

She shook her head to clear it. 

“Thank you,” she breathed and, catching the look of concern on his face, was somewhat embarrassed that she had been staring at him for as long as she had. _What if he thought her another star struck fan?_ She shuddered at the thought. 

“Fergus!” Jamie barked suddenly and she jerked in surprise. His hold on her increased slightly as if he was worried she would fall again but a moment later let go with a satisfied nod.

“Milord?” A familiar young boy with dark curls and no gloves skated up to them, looking first to Jamie and then Claire. “Milady! Bonsoir.” He bowed confidently in her direction, his French accent thick with excitement. He stood up tall on his skates. “I did not see you there.” 

“Evidently,” Jamie growled. “Ye ken better than to run in front of people when members of the public are on the ice. I believe ye have something to say to Mistress Beauchamp, here.” He raised an eyebrow and Fergus pouted in response. Claire had to stop herself from smiling at the sight. She hadn’t realised Jamie had any children but he played the role of exasperated parent _perfectly._

With a dramatic sigh Fergus turned to Claire and smiled as sweetly as he could under the circumstances. “I am very sorry, Ms Beauchamp. I didn’t mean to make you fall. I promise to be more careful next time.”

Claire opened her mouth to respond but was distracted by a little girl approaching them timidly.

“Excuse me, mister,” she tugged on Jamie’s sweater and held onto her oversized Badgers beanie as she tilted her face up to look at him. “Are you Red Jamie?” 

Jamie crouched down to speak to the little girl and Fergus used the opportunity to his advantage. He tapped Claire on the arm and gestured for her too to lean down ever so slightly.

“You won’t tell him will you?” 

“About you riding through the streets of Inverness on a horse that wasn’t yours, you mean?”

“Oui,” Fergus nodded quickly as he again assessed Jamie’s continued busy status. 

“Well, I can't promise to keep anything secret but perhaps instead I can assure you I won't purposefully bring it up in conversation myself. Does that make you feel any better?"

Fergus didn't look at all appeased but quickly accepted as Jamie shook hands with the little Badgers fan and stood once again this time offering his own apologies.

“It’s perfectly fine,” Claire assured him as they shuffled a little closer to the edge of the rink, out of the other skaters' way. “Fergus was more than happy to keep me company. He is quite the conversationalist.”

“Oh, aye,” Jamie agreed and he eyed his son speculatively. “May I enquire as to the topic of this conversation.”

“The cookie bake-a-thon tomorrow,” Fergus offered quickly, a little _too_ quickly if the dip of Jamie’s brow was anything to go by. “Claire should come. You said we needed help.” 

_Misdirection at its finest,_ Claire noted.

“There you are, Claire,” Frank appeared on the other side of the barrier, a take away cup in each hand. “Is everything alright?”

“Absolutely fine,” she assured him. “Jamie, this is my boyfriend Franklin Randall. Frank, let me introduce you to James Fraser, Captain-

“-of the Badgers,” Frank finished for her and reached out to shake Jamie’s equally gloved hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I believe you played quite the game the other night.” 

“Ye were both there?” 

“We were,” Frank confirmed. “While not part of our usual social activity, a local acquaintance of ours assured us attending a hockey game was the ‘proper’ thing to do when in Inverness. I believe Claire, in particular, found it to be quite enjoyable.”

“Aye?” Jamie’s face lit up and Claire smiled, his joy contagious. “That’s high praise coming from someone who is no’ a fan of the game. As Fergus mentioned, we’re beginning fundraising preparations with a ‘cookie bake-a-thon’ at the Arena tomorrow we would certainly appreciate ye both stopping by. And dinnae feel like ye must help wi’ the baking if ye come,” Jamie chuckled. “That’s more an activity to keep the juniors busy, aye? We’ll also be working on other community projects for the Midwinter Festival and there'll be a lot of people from the community there tomorrow, if you’re interested in meeting new people. They sure would like getting to know ye, too.” 

“I’m afraid I must decline,” Frank stated. “I’ve plans already in place but Claire isn’t going to be doing anything.” 

All too intrigued by Jamie’s offer, Claire couldn’t muster the usual indignation of having someone - even Frank - make plans for her or speak on her behalf. Instead she turned to Jamie, her chin held high and the smile still on her face.

“I’d be happy to join you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: I watched The Christmas Bow (2020) while writing this chapter and instead of inspiring me to write it actually slowed my progress it was that good. What was the last Christmas movie you watched? Did you like it?


	7. Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 6

“Frank,” Claire called as she rummaged through the bedroom closet haphazardly. She was due to meet Jamie and Fergus at the Arena soon and she simply didn’t have time to clean away the patches of dirt she only just realised were adorning her usual overcoat. “Have you seen my red coat?”

“Is it still in one of the suitcases?” 

She abandoned her current search and pulled out the large silver suitcase from under the bed. She opened it to find her coat, just as Frank had guessed. “Thank you!”

She yanked it out and a little red velvet box fell to the floor in front of her. She froze at the sight. 

She bit her lip gently as she contemplated its existence. _Was Frank... going to propose?_ She leaned back and looked out the open door at Frank. He was in the kitchen cleaning up the morning dishes, the clock on the wall directly above him catching her attention.

“Oh shoot,” she grabbed the box and quickly stuffed it back into the suitcase between some layers of clothing and pushed it back under the bed. “I’m going to be late.”

She threw her coat over her arm and called out her goodbye to Frank, the vintage calendar and its daily ornament forgotten in her rush to get out the door. 

* * *

While the rink itself was empty, Inverness Ice Arena was bustling with people.

Claire made her way past the entrance and followed the sound of merriment to what looked to be a large function area, tables and chairs placed strategically throughout. A small group of children weaved through and Claire stepped aside as they ran on straight out the door. 

“Claire!” 

She turned to see Jamie standing in another doorway across the room.

“Jamie,” she smiled and made her way over. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

‘Ach, dinnae fash. We appreciate ye coming no matter the time-” 

“Claire!” Fergus popped up from under Jamie’s arm, flour smeared across one cheek. And just as quickly as he disappeared.

“-as ye can probably guess the more hands the better.”

Jamie led the way into a large kitchen, a short, heavy set woman bustling about several old industrial sized fixtures and appliances in a way that screamed ‘in charge’. Upon seeing their arrival into what was very obviously her domain, she wiped her hands on a towel and walked over to greet them.

“Claire Beauchamp, Mistress Fitzgibbons,” Jamie introduced them. “Fergus and I invited her to join us in baking cookies for the fundraiser today and she was kind enough to accept.” 

“Well... Claire,” Mrs Fitzgibbons looked her up and down speculatively. “Come with me. We shall find you something to eat, something to wear that's a bit more... Well, a bit more.”

“More?” Claire asked as she followed the broad set woman across the kitchen floor.

“Yes, dear. Here we go,” Mrs Fitzgibbons turned around, a red apron in hand. “Much more appropriate.”

“Oh… no,” Claire shook her head. Not only was the apron adorned with Santa's image multiple times over but it was also edged with such dramatic green frills she had to prevent herself from physically stepping away. “I couldn’t-”

“We cannae have ye getting muck all over those pretty clothes of yers. Now hang up yer coat. Quickly now. Come on!”

Knowing it was a fight she wasn’t going to win, Claire did as she was told and held her face straight as she lifted the neck of the apron over her head. She caught sight of Jamie looking at her from his seat at the bench as she knotted the ties behind her back, an amused smile creeping onto his face. She brushed her palms down the front to smooth it out and then curtseyed for his benefit. “What do you think?”

“Weel, ‘tis ‘more’, Sassenach.” 

Claire chuckled and picked up a wooden spoon. “Now, where do I begin?”

With Fergus and a young girl named Sophie more than eager to guide her in the cookie making process, she quickly found herself thankful for the apron as flour, sugar and even butter spread across not just the workspace but themselves too. Just as the last batch was going into the oven Rupert and Angus walked in. 

“Somethin’ smells good,” Rupert commented while Angus reached out to pinch some left over dough from one of the bowls and Mrs Fitzgibbons’ quick reflexes had her whipping her tea towel towards the two men before they could do anything. 

“Hey!” Angus pouted dramatically and cradled his hand towards his chest. “What was that for?”

“For teaching the children bad habits, that’s what for, ye bampot. If you're not working here, be gone with ye. Go on, out!” 

“Alright, alright,” Angus held his hands up in surrender then quickly scooped some dough into his house and ran after Rupert lest the tea towel actually connect this time. He popped his head back around the corner at the last second. “Call fer us when yer done icing! We’ll help clean up.” With one final wink the men were gone, the children left giggling in their wake.

“That goes for you lot, too,” Mrs Fitzgibbons put her hands on her hips, the smile on her face negating her stern voice. “There’s nothing more for you to do until the cookies are out of the oven and have had a chance to cool down. Now, off you go. Shoo!”

Jamie herded the children out and Claire began gathering the dirty dishes before she was ushered to sit back down and a bowl of soup was placed in front of her. 

“Oh my goodness,” Claire put a hand over her mouth as she savoured the taste. “This is delicious. What is it?”

“It’s no’ but a simple winter vegetable soup with some new herbs. I usually serve something similar on days we host the soup kitchen here at the Arena but I’ve got some new titbits in the pantry as I’m wanting to serve something a little more special for Christmas.”

“The soup kitchen must be very popular if the food tastes anything like this,” Claire observed. “How often do you host?”

“Every weekend just about. I feed the boys - young and grown alike - throughout the hockey season and what’s left over we deliver during the week.” From the way Mrs Fitzgibbons spoke it was obvious the woman was very proud of her work and took her mission to feed not only her ‘boys’ but the entire community very seriously. “My granddaughter, Laoghaire, is usually here helping me but she’s busy studying fer an upcoming exam. Culinary Arts they call it now, ye ken. And an _exam_! I dinnae ken… well, never mind that. If the cookies the children bake today raise enough to serve dessert along wi’ a proper Christmas dinner, I’ll have to decide between clootie dumpling and cranachan...”

Mrs Fitzgibbons continued on as she cleaned and Claire ate with potential dishes, sides, preparation times and who preferred what being the primary focus. Just as Claire put down her spoon a young boy wandered into the kitchen looking for what she thought to be something to snack on and was quickly snatched up by Mrs Fitzgibbons. 

“Have you never heard of a comb, you wee gomeril?”

The boy tried to duck and weave away from the hands attacking his dark mop of hair . “Aw, leave off, auntie.” 

“My nephew, Tammas Baxter,” the woman informed Claire proudly and patted his shoulders. “Out of the kitchen now, I’ll call ye shortly when it’s time to begin decoratin’ and dinnae fash, there’ll be plenty to spare when the time comes.” 

The boy did as he was told and Mrs Fitzgibbons clicked the tongue. She took away the empty bowl in front of Claire and gestured to an open crate over in the corner. 

“Would you be so kind as to take that box out to the others in the dining hall? It doesnae matter how many times I remind those men, they still need someone to follow them around.” She shook her head. “Absolutely helpless.”

“Of course," Claire got up from her seat and hung the apron back up with the others before picking up the box. "And thank you, Mrs. Fitzgibbons, for both the meal and conversation.” 

“Everybody calls me Mrs. Fitz,” the woman replied and they looked at each other a moment. “You may also.”

The matter apparently now closed, the woman walked away leaving Claire to her own devices. She wandered out into the dining area where she found several people, young and old, milling about putting up decorations. Something dropped to the floor by her feet and she placed the crate to the side before bending to pick it up. She looked up to find Jamie standing on a ladder, a stack of similar looking decorations balancing haphazardly on the top rung.

"I think you dropped one."

He looked down and smiled before reaching down to take the crocheted snowflake from her with thanks. He attached it to the garland and climbed down. "Ye managed to escape Mrs Fitz’s spoon, I see. That’s quite a feat for anyone, Sassench, let alone it being yer first time."

"I saw first hand the number of people _voluntarily_ coming and going, James Fraser. You can’t fool me,” Claire laughed. “That being said... I didn’t so much as escape but was asked to deliver this,” she pulled the box closer and peeked inside. _More decorations. No surprise there._ “Is there anything I can do to help here?"

“Actually, I could use yer help stringing some of these lights,” Jamie said. “You bring the box and I’ll bring the ladder?”

The two of them spent the next hour or so putting up not only multiple strings of lights but more garlands, tinsel and ornaments, chatting as they went. At one point, Mrs Fitz announced it was time to ice the cookies and they found themselves working alone in the hallway.

“A little higher on the left. Okay, a little lower…. Perfect!”

Jamie stepped down the ladder and moved to stand back next to Claire and mimicked her stance, arms crossed and head tilted. “Do ye think we need more?”

“No.”

“No?” 

Claire looked at Jamie for a moment, to the numerous decorations adorning the hall and then back again. She shook her head. “No.”

“What about some more lights up here? Garland? Wreath? _Nothing_?”

“No,” Claire repeated and dropped her arms to her side when she finally realised. “You’re messing with me aren’t you?”

“Aye,” Jamie laughed and started packing up the ladder. “Even without reading the look on yer face I ken it’s more than enough.”

Claire pulled a face and glared at Jamie jokingly as she followed him to a storage locker, determined to get him back at some point. _When he least expected it, too._ Having put away their tools, equipment and now empty crates they made their way back to the dining hall to find almost all the cookies now iced. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” one lady stood up quickly. “I didn’t want to leave the children unsupervised but I need to get to the general store before they close for the day. They called to say they have some more donations for the winter clothing drive. Would you mind?” She gestured to her station, stacks of empty white boxes and various ribbons set to the side, as she picked up her bag with her other hand. “6 cookies to a box. It doesn’t really matter which, only that they’re presented nicely. Have fun!”

With that the woman was gone and Claire felt she really had no other choice but to take her place. Looking to where Jamie had sat down with Fergus and Sophie quickly had her feeling grateful for the task she had inherited. Just like earlier, brightly coloured icing seemed to be on pretty much every surface except the cookies on the plate. 

It was fun though, much more fun than untangling lights and steadying ladders, and Fergus, it turned out, was quite the source for entertainment. Watching him joke around purely for Jamie’s benefit left her curious as to why Fergus referred to Jamie as Milord but there never seemed to be a good time to ask. As they worked, she thought about how there was still so much she didn’t know about the people of Inverness, about their community or even the game they all shared and loved with a passion that continued to surprise her.

Next time the opportunity arose, she decided, she would have to find out more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’ll surely recognise some lines from 1x02 Castle Leoch and 1x03 The Way Out in this chapter. Mrs Fitz is one of my favourite characters and those early scenes are just classic! Unbeknownst to Claire, this chapter’s theme was gift giving and I want to ask: what’s the best gift you’ve ever received for Christmas (or otherwise)?


	8. Gingerbread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 7

When Claire awoke the next morning and shuffled her way across the living room, cup of tea in hand, she found two figurines waiting for her. A little Santa hat wearing figurine holding a gift box and a simple gingerbread man with multi colour accents. Holding back a yawn, she added them to the ever growing collection on the mantle. 

_Mmm... Gingerbread_ . _Perhaps they could stop at the bakery on High Street on their way to the Manse._ She did hate to arrive at their host’s empty handed, after all.

* * *

“So, tell me, dear. How have you been enjoying your holiday so far?”

Claire added a dash of milk to her cup and gave it a gentle stir as Mrs Graham settled herself into her chair. “Well, it’s not been as quiet as I had planned but I’m not at all mad about it.” 

“No?” Mrs Graham raised a knowing eyebrow and Claire laughed.

“It’s been a lot more eventful that’s for sure.” 

Claire continued on, regaling Mrs Graham with all the events from the past few days: the ice hockey game, runaway horses and spending time helping at the Arena. As she spoke she couldn’t help but think of the correlation between the figurines offered by the vintage calendar and each days’ events. She fiddled with the half eaten gingerbread cookie on her plate for a moment before giving in.

“I can’t believe I’m even asking you this but,” she paused to check Frank and the Reverend were occupied before continuing, “the calendar you gave me… is it… by any chance…” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “magic?”

“Magic, dear?”

“Oh, you probably think I’m so silly,” Claire said, her cheeks colouring with embarrassment. “It’s just, every day something out of the ordinary happens and it can always be linked back to the calendar, to the little figurine behind that days’ door. I mean, is it possible they’re... predicting the future?”

“Weel,” Mrs Graham started, “some might call it magic, some might call it fate.”

Claire couldn’t help but be a little sceptical of how unaffected Mrs Graham seemed by her question. “You _don’t_ think I’m being silly?”

“I make a hobby of reading palms and tea leaves, dear. When it comes to predicting the future, a magical calendar is not the most wild thing to ever be mentioned in this house. Whilst I cannot confirm and I believe you shouldn’t worry yourself with it too much, I can tell you the holiday calendar watches over you - as it has many women over past generations.” With that Mrs Graham changed direction. “Now, tell me more about what’s been happening lately. You mentioned you spent the day at the Arena?”

“Yes, it was so much fun. The team were helping the kids bake cookies for the fundraiser. I hadn’t realised the amount of community projects they hosted. The soup kitchen? The winter clothing drive?”

“The Arena has been such a big part of Inverness for as long as any of us can remember,” Mrs Graham smiled fondly. “Christmas time in particular has always been special. It’s such a shame it’s going to be closing. A real shame.”

Claire turned her head, suddenly confused. “Closing?”

“Aye,” Mrs Graham began clearing up their empty cups and plates and bustling about the kitchen. “I dinnae ken the exact details - the hockey goes right over my head, ken? - but in short, the Arena is getting run down and unless we find the money to renovate the team will have to move and without the team…” 

“I can’t believe no-one mentioned the Arena was in trouble.”

“Ah, weel, we’re a proud people, ken? It’s no’ in our nature to speak of the troubles that worry us - especially with outsiders.”

“But what about the people that rely on the Arena? The community projects, the soup kitchen? The kids?”

Mrs Graham shook her head sadly. “I dinnae ken. But if you would like to find out more you should consider popping on down there tomorrow. There’s a meeting scheduled in addition to the Festival preparation. They would appreciate the help, I’m sure. Ooh! You can take a box of things for me. Let me go and get it.”

Claire nodded, pretending as if she had any real say in the matter, “Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: “Well, some might call it magic, some might call it fate” and “But what I can tell you is the holiday calendar watches over you” are direct quotes from The Holiday Calendar!
> 
> Uh oh. The Inverness Ice Arena is in trouble! Did you see that coming?


	9. Scarf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 8

“Darling, wait,” Frank called as Claire opened the door to their apartment. She turned and looked at him expectantly, the box Mrs Graham had given to her to deliver heavy in her arms. “Your scarf.” 

He wrapped the chunky cable knit around her neck, careful to avoid disrupting her carefully styled curls, and used it to gently pull her in for a brief kiss on the lips. He smiled at Claire’s look of sweet surprise and returned to his open books on the kitchen table. 

Claire looked over at the mantle as she repositioned the chunky cable knit; the newest figurine, a little red woollen scarf, standing out amongst the rest; Mrs Graham's words from yesterday ringing in her ears.

_...Some might call it magic, some might call it fate._

* * *

“Claire! Yer back!” Jamie greeted her with a smile once again. The function room was just as busy as last time but the absence of any children made it far less chaotic.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Claire smiled and shifted the box on her hip. “Mrs Graham asked me to bring this on her behalf. She said you were expecting it?”

“Oh, wonderful, wonderful!” Mrs Fitz. came up to join them. “I’ll take that of yer hands, lass. That Mrs Graham, she does wonders, she does. Every time!”

Claire gladly handed it over, its contents still a mystery, but too glad to be free of its weight to enquire purely to sate her curiosity. Jamie opened his mouth but before he could say anything a commanding voice from the other side of the room sought out everyone’s attention. 

“Thank you for coming, everyone. If you would all please be seated we will get this meeting started. I know you all have other things to do after this.”

The group did as they were told and Claire followed Jamie’s lead, taking a seat beside him on a wooden bench. She felt terribly out of place but eager to find out what their plans they had in store for the Arena. Claire studied the man on the platform as they waited for everyone to settle in and quiet down. He was a well dressed man with fair skin, dark hair and grey eyes and stood in a way that told those around him he was not a man to be trifled with. 

Her interest must have been evident in the expression on her face as Jamie leaned down to whisper in her ear. “That’s Colum MacKenzie and next to him his wife Letitia. My uncle and aunt, ken?” 

_Ah,_ Claire thought, _perhaps that’s why he looked so familiar._ “Dougal’s brother?” 

“Aye,” Jamie nodded, a twinkle in his eye. It was one that spoke of both mischief and entertainment and Claire was all the more curious about the MacKenzie clan. 

“This week,” Colum started, “we received written confirmation from the NHL that if this Arena doesn’t meet code by Hogmanay the team will be relocated to one of the larger and,” Colum’s face twisted bitterly, “more ‘modern’ arenas down south.” He sighed. “Who else has updates? Dougal?”

Dougal stepped away from where he had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Our current sponsors Rent 1743 have committed to a 20 percent increase in funding but that’s not enough to cover all the renovations _and_ installation of the goal line sensors. I’ve scheduled meetings with a number of potential corporate sponsors most of which will take place while we’re on the road between now and Christmas.”

“Alright,” Colum nodded, obviously pleased with his brother’s news, as Dougal resumed his place. “Anyone else?”

A lady wearing a rather conspicuous Christmas sweater complete with flashing lights stood up. “I can confirm the Festival is running to schedule however with all of our funds being directed elsewhere this Christmas, we might have to make some cuts to the program. Either that or find another way to increase our fundraising.”

“We really don’t want to cut any of our programs, especially none that help feed and clothe the townspeople.” Colum rubbed his palm across his chin then looked around the room. “Ideas?”

“We need more people,” a man who Claire recognised as the owner of a coffee shop down the street said. “More people means more money... which means being able to help _all_ of the small business owners, the families and the young children.”

This time a young woman Claire recognised as the Arena employee who was checking tickets at the door piped up. “What if we brought the Festival online?”

“Online?” Someone else asked.

“Yes,” the woman nodded enthusiastically. “A lot of people in the Highlands either live too far away or can’t travel due to weather conditions. We can broaden our reach by live streaming some of the events and setting up for online donations.”

“The Badgers already have a large following,” someone else piped up and Claire nodded in agreement, thinking of the team’s social media page and the tags she had scrolled through on the night of the game. “You could coordinate and reach a much wider fanbase.”

“You could also expand your current fundraisers,” Claire suggested. “You could offer the cookie recipe online for a token amount, for example, and encourage bakers to share their results online. It might not result in a lot of additional funds but would certainly help spread the word.”

“And maybe if potential sponsors see our efforts they will understand how important the Arena is,” someone else added and there was a round of agreement. 

“It certainly wouldn’t hurt.” 

“I think it’s a great idea.”

“We’ll need to come up with a hashtag.” 

“How about just #HighlandWinterFestival?”

“Alright,” Colum said with finality and the group quietened down. “Form a social media section within the Committee. Coordinate with the team’s social media personnel. Keep us updated on meetings with potential sponsors.”

With that Colum and Letitia stepped down and left the room, a regal air about them that had Claire staring long after they left her sight. By the time she regained her senses everyone else was moving about, no time to waste. 

A young blonde haired woman approached her with a smile. “I quite liked yer suggestion earlier. About the cookies.”

“Everyone loves cookies,” Claire stated simply with a shrug, uncomfortable with the idea she had brought so much attention upon herself.

“That’s verrae true. I myself cannae say no any time they’re offered,” the woman shook her head self-deprecatingly. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, I don’t believe we have,” Claire smiled back and held out her hand. “Claire Beauchamp.”

“Laoghaire MacKenzie,” the woman reciprocated and shook her hand.

“Oh! You’re Mrs Fitzgibbon's granddaughter."

“Aye.”

“It’s nice to meet you. Your grandmother speaks very highly of you.”

“That surprises me, to be honest wi’ ye! I sure gave her some trouble when I was a teen, ye ken? I’ve been workin’ in the kitchens ever since tryin’ to get back in her good graces. I’m sae pleased to see it’s finally workin’!” Laoghaire laughed. “I suppose I should get around to asking ye what I had planned from the beginnin’ - would ye be keen in joining the Festival Committee?”

“Oh,” Claire sucked in a breath. “I don’t know… I really only came to deliver the box from Mrs Graham. I didn’t mean to become quite so involved.”

Thankfully Laoghaire didn’t fight her on it. “Weel, if ye change yer mind ye ken where to find us. We hardly want tae be takin’ credit fer yer ideas, after all. That being said,” she lowered her voice, “if ye have any more please do let us know.”

“That, I can do,” Claire promised with a chuckle. 

Claire picked up her jacket and laid it over arm before adjusting the scarf around her neck. Now seemed to be as good a time as any to sneak out the door, lest she linger any longer and run into Mrs Fitz, herself and be forced to stay for another meal.

She took her time walking down the empty hallway, noticing the decorations were all still in place. She paused at the section labelled ‘The Hall of Fame’. Older, black and white photos stood out amongst the sepia and much more recent full colour images, a visual reminder of how long the Arena had been an important part of Inverness and the town’s unexplainable infatuation with ice hockey. She continued on, trailing a hand along one of the garlands. The growing sounds of skating and sticks slapping caught her attention and she diverted towards the open doors to the rink.

Having no need to rush back to the B&B, she stood in the doorway and watched for a while. The juniors were practicing moves, running… drills? on the ice. Jamie, she noticed, was walking to and fro along the inner sideline, yelling something or other whenever deemed appropriate. Which was, it seemed, every second breath.

Murtagh, however, was the perfect embodiment of restraint, leaning against the railing, arms crossed and the now obligatory scowl on his face. At that moment the gruff man looked up and caught her eye. He raised an eyebrow jerked his chin slightly and Claire, feeling rather stupid lurking by the door, moved forward into the stadium and down the stairs with what she hoped looked like a sense of purpose. What that purpose was she had no idea but they need not know that. 

_Fake it till you make it, Beauchamp._

Luckily for her, Murtagh didn’t seem to be interested in making small talk, choosing instead to narrate the training session: the plays, the roughhousing and the subsequent penalties. All for her benefit no doubt but she found she didn’t mind, intrigued by both the game itself and Jamie’s obvious passion for teaching it. 

“Eyes up! Eyes up!... Yes! That’s it! Keep going!... ” 

Jamie’s head turned, mouth open to say something to Murtagh, and did a double take when he caught sight of her standing there next to him. “Cla--OOF!” 

Jamie's feet went out from under him as Fergus slid into him from the other side and he went down hard, a dull thud resounding as he hit the ice. Claire jumped the gate and rushed to his side as quickly as she could wearing normal boots on the ice, the kids sliding up much more smoothly to form a messy circle around them. 

“Jamie, can you hear me?”

Jamie simply raised a hand to his head and groaned in response which Claire took as a good sign. _Certainly better than unconsciousness, in any case._ Quickly she pulled off her scarf and bundled it under his head, something to both cushion his skull and keep it off the ice. Jamie shifted as if to get up and Claire put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Stay as you are. Just for a moment. Can you tell me if anything hurts?"

“Other than my heid?”

“Including your head,” she threaded her fingers through his hair and palpated his scalp looking for any kind of contusion or signs of something worse. 

“Nothing more than the start of a headache. Certainly nothin’ I cannae handle, Sassenach. We Fraser’s are kent fer our hard heids.”

“Hard heided is right,” Murtagh muttered from behind, causing her to chuckle.

Coming up with nothing more than the start of a small bruise forming she pulled her hands away and sat back on her heels long enough to pull out a small pen light. She leaned over again and held up a finger. “Look over here.”

“Do ye always carry yon wee torch, Sassenach?”

“That, amongst other things,” she answered distractedly, moving her finger to the other side. “And over here. Okay, now follow my finger.” His eyes didn’t move as instructed and she leaned back worried. Rather than terribly concussed, however, she found him simply watching her with a look on his face she couldn’t quite interpret. She stared back at him for a moment and decided, unlikely to get anything more out of him in this state, to move on. “Alright. Let’s get you off the ice.” 

Despite his six foot plus frame and more helping hands than was _actually_ helpful, it didn’t take long to have Jamie settled on the bleachers. Claire sat down next to him as they waited for Fergus to return with an ice pack. 

“This seems to be a habit of yours,” she commented as she eyed him assessingly. 

“What’s that? Needing your attention?”

“No,” Claire laughed. “I meant falling and being in need of ice but, sure, that applies too.”

Fergus ran down the stairs two at a time and landed in front of them with a flourish. “Here you are, Milord,” he handed over the ice pack, wrapped in a red cloth, and shuffled awkwardly for a moment. “I-I-I didn’t mean to knock you over,” he rushed out somewhat desperately. “I swear!”

“Dinnae fash, lad,” Jamie put a hand on the young boy’s shoulder, the ice pack clutched in the other. “Get back on the ice. I want to see you practicing your wrist shot. Remember what I told ye?” 

Seemingly bolstered by Jamie’s response, Fergus stood up tall and recited proudly, “Point where you want the puck to go.”

“Point where ye want the puck to go. Good man.” One final pat on his shoulder had the young boy rushing to put his skates back on and out on the ice as instructed.

“He’s very eager to please you,” Claire commented. “It’s quite obvious you mean the world to him.”

“He’s been wi’ me for a few years now, ever since I found him picking pockets on the streets, barely a roof over his heid and no family to speak of... My sister, Jenny, calls him my wee shadow,” Jamie chuckled and then sobered slightly. “I havenae found the courage to tell him yet.”

“Tell him?” Claire nudged his hand pointedly and he lifted the ice pack to sit against the back of his head.

“He kens the Arena will close if we cannae get another sponsor in time, that the team will be moving away. What he doesnae yet realise is that he cannae come with me if that happens.”

“No?” 

“I dinnae ken how much ye know about the fostering process but they would never allow him to come with. The travelling, the sharing accommodation with the other men. It’s no place fer someone as young as Fergus, although he would verrae much disagree.”

“Where will he stay if you move?”

“Jenny, and her husband, Ian, have already agreed to take him in if anything should ever happen. Fergus doesnae mind spending time there every now and again when I’m away, wi’ all the bairns to keep him company, but I dinnae think he’ll appreciate me leaving him behind permanently. Or, I should say, until my contact with the Badgers comes to an end. And it’s no’ just Fergus I worry about, mind. It’s the other kids too. Rabbie, there,” Jamie nodded towards the goalie sporting a red bib, ‘his Da… weel, his Da doesnae look after him the way he deserves. And little Lennox and his sister Amelia,” he indicated this time towards a long haired girl crouching down on one knee to adjust the pads on a much smaller boy, “their Ma’s workin’ two jobs ever since their Da passed away. Jack, the larger one in red over there showing them how to hold their sticks, lives wi’ his grandparents and they struggle wi’ him acting out at times. Life for a lot of these kids has been tough but while they’re coming in here a few times a week we can make sure they have enough to keep ‘em warm in the winter and Mrs Fitz can keep ‘em well fed - and they ken they can come to us if they need anything else.”

“And without the Arena,” Claire nodded slowly, “they won’t have any of that.” 

“Aye. We can send them clothes and even have food delivered but a lot of the time kids just need somewhere to spend their time. Somewhere safe.

They sat there quietly for a while, watching the juniors play while Jamie rested and Claire thought things over. The closing of the Arena would have a severe impact on not only the players and their families but the wider community too with small business owners no doubt relying on games to bring in patrons. She couldn’t say she didn’t want to help in some way or other... perhaps she could speak to Frank about making a donation of some kind. 

She pulled her eyes away from the Badgers mural on the far wall and looked at Jamie once again. “How are you feeling now? Any change?”

“Nothing more than a wee headache, Sassenach. Nothing that will stop me from playing the upcoming game I assure ye.”

“When do you play next?”

He dropped the ice pack onto the seat beside him and leaned back. “We have an away game day after tomorrow.”

“Hmmm… You’ll have to check in with your team physician just to be sure, they’ll be able to assess you more closely than I can, but I don’t see any reason for them not to clear you for play. So long as you continue to rest and make sure not to overdo it between now and then. I do recommend, however, that you have someone with you for the next 24 hours just in case. Is that going to be possible?”

“Ye needn’t worry about that, Sassenach,” Jamie raised his voice slightly, a mischievous look in his eye that reminded her exactly of Fergus. “Murtagh will take good care of me.”

Down by the rink’s gate Murtagh harrumphed and Claire laughed. _He was going to be just fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The meeting in this chapter was inspired by the movie Christmas Tree Lane (2020) where (spoiler warning) everyone on the Lane meets to discuss mass eviction notices received that day. Those pesky Christmas-hating corporate developers! *shakes fist* Do you have a favourite Christmas movie trope/storyline? I have to admit I'm rather partial to the struggling family farm in need of a holiday miracle.


	10. Candle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 9

Claire shifted the figurines from the vintage calendar around to make room for the little candle, its hand painted yellow flame realistic in a way that bordered on unbelievable. There were only nine including today’s and yet the mantle was starting to get over crowded. 

Later, she would have to reorganise the vase, the candle holders and move the other decorations to somewhere else in the apartment. Mrs Baird wouldn't mind too much, surely.

* * *

Claire and Frank followed the waiter to their reserved table on the far side of the restaurant. The atmosphere was soft and romantic, lit candles adorning every table and only the bare minimum of Christmas decorations throughout. She loved it and suspected Frank did too. They took their seats and settled in as they were handed menus and had their stemless wine glasses filled with water. They ordered the highly recommended three course meal and chatted casually as they waited. 

“So, now that you’ve completed your research, what’s the next step?” Claire asked in between sips from her glass.

“Well,” Frank started. “I need to go through everything I have and consider any last minute changes. That shouldn’t take too long. My note taking process is meticulous and I would be very surprised to find I had covered the same topic twice. Then, it’s off to the editor who will...” 

Frank continued on in that fashion, animated by his newfound success, listing all the steps it would take to see his book published as they were served with incredibly small but artistically crafted and equally delicious courses. Claire couldn’t help but smile and laugh along with him as they ate, the knowledge that they would finally be able to spend more time together during the day as exciting as Frank’s achievement. 

When their final dishes were cleared and glasses refilled Frank sobered and Claire sat up a little straighter in her seat. She couldn’t help but think - even through the fog of good food and alcohol - of what she had found in their suitcase a few days ago. 

_Was this it?_

_Was Frank going to propose?_

“Claire,” he began slowly, his eyes alight with happiness. 

Her breath caught in her throat and she raised a hand to her chest as Frank pulled out the little red jewelry box. _This was it_. 

“I’ve been waiting for this day for so long and I cannot possibly wait a moment longer to tell you… When I think of the future... I think of you and I, together, in a home that we’ve made ours, experiencing all the wonders of life both big and small, side by side, and supporting each other through the bad... Claire-”

He held the box out towards her and opened it. Her mouth opened but no sound came out. 

She was speechless.

“-we’re going to Harvard. I’ve been offered a position within their Department of History!”

There, sitting on a black velvet pillow, was a Harvard University lapel pin, the well known crimson shield sporting three books, and the word Veritas a stark contrast to its background.

“I…” she willed for words to form but her mind was blank, completely and utterly unsure how to react to Frank’s news. 

“It’s a surprise, I know,” Frank's voice softened in understanding. “It was a surprise to me too. I wasn’t expecting to hear from them until after the new year. But this will work in our favour. It gives me more time to prepare for the transition and hopefully see my book forwarded to the publishers before starting.”

“When…?” At least some words were forming now and she had the mind not to blurt out what she was really thinking, like _What the actual #*% &? _

“It’s not set in stone but they want me to be there in time for the Spring Semester...” 

Just like earlier in the night, Frank continued talking animatedly of his plans but this time Claire wasn’t smiling. And she definitely wasn’t laughing. 

“...many believe Harvard's motto to have originated in the early 19th Century, at the Bicentennial celebration when, in fact, ‘Veritas’ was adopted in 1643, almost two centuries earlier.” Frank pulled the lapel pin out of the box and held it in the light. “The shield itself, of course, has continued to change over the years. I find this one to be rather pleasing.”

Frank finally paused and she had to ask: “What about my greenhouse?”

“Your greenhouse? Well, that’s just a hobby, dear. You can do that anywhere - why not Boston? I’m sure there will be plenty of flora native to the area that you will find more than satisfactory and, if not, I have no doubt with your skills and qualifications you could secure a position with any hospital or practice in the area.” Frank held up a finger, indicating for her to wait as he took another sip of wine. “I could even set up some meeting with some of my contacts there, if you like?” 

“I’m trying to move away from that,” Claire said with a soft shake of her head, willing him to remember her detailed plans involving ethnobotany and a self-funded nursery. “I want to branch out - specialise in something I really enjoy.”

“I didn’t mean for you to feel pressured,” Frank wrapped her hand in his and squeezed apologetically. “There’s no need to make any decisions now - we’ve plenty of time to discuss the fine details. Let’s just enjoy tonight.”

Claire raised her glass with her free hand and agreed, “Let’s just enjoy tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Were you as surprised as Claire by Frank’s news? Do you think Claire is going to genuinely consider moving to Boston or is this possibly the beginning of the end of their relationship?


	11. Carols

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 10

Claire studied the calendar's latest offering. It was a dainty little character, eyes closed and mouth wide open with an open book in hand. _A caroler_ . _How sweet._

* * *

Claire collected the little caroling figurine from the mantle and took it back with her to her seat at the kitchen island where Frank continued with the task of preparing an evening meal. She played with it absentmindedly, thinking of the carolers who had just gifted the B&B residents with a heart-warming rendition of O Come All Ye Faithful. 

As Frank chopped and diced, she considered the recent conversation she had with Mrs Graham and everything that had happened since December 1st. 

The cup of candy canes on the table where they studied, eggnog to drink on the way home, Frank surprising her with tickets to an ice hockey game, a romantic carriage ride around the city, ice skating in the park, finding the little red box in the suitcase, Frank wrapping her scarf around her and kissing her goodbye... even the candlelight dinner where Frank presented her with the Harvard pin could all be linked back to the vintage calendar.

Frank’s job offer had taken her by surprise, certainly, and at first she had been more than a little disappointed that it meant her own plans would not go ahead but she had been suspicious of the calendar for some days now, too many coincidences to simply brush off, and she couldn’t help but think this was perhaps a sign she should go to Boston with Frank, that this was the next step in their relationship. 

Could she really look to the calendar now and believe in what it might be trying to tell her? Could it be possible?

“Could what be possible, dear?”

Claire looked up in surprise. _Had she just said that part out loud?_

She decided it best to just get straight to the point. "Magic."

“Well, many cultures all over the world believe in magic though what magic and to what extent often differs between social groups within these cultures.” Frank added some ingredients to the pan, various spices as well. “What particular magic are you referring to?” 

“The vintage calendar Mrs Graham gave me, actually. Every morning there’s a little figurine waiting and every day something happens that’s directly related to it. Just today the calendar produced this,” Claire sat the little caroler down in the middle of the island, “and tonight carolers turned up at our door”.

“I do believe that is what they call coincidence, dear.”

“It happens again and again, though,” Claire argued. “Every day. Think about it, Frank. We would never choose to order eggnog and we certainly would never think to attend an ice hockey game together. It just seems like it is taking us on a path we would never choose for ourselves. I don’t know how else to explain it.”

“I do,” offered Frank. “It’s Christmas time in a town that celebrates the holiday like it’s the set of a made for television movie."

“This is true,” Claire admitted with a laugh. “The trees. The lights. The _garlands_. It’s so over the top.” 

“Coming across things like candy canes and gingerbread cookies is inevitable with or without an old calendar,” Frank reasoned. “When you look at it objectively, the likelihood that the calendar is magic is on par with the likelihood of time travel being real,” he chuckled to himself as he prepared the crockery for plating. “There’s no evidence to suggest it’s anything more than perception and pure unsubstantiated belief.” 

“Note to self: whenever in need of a reality check simply consult a scholar,” Claire made a self-deprecating face and Frank chuckled again. 

“If there’s one I know for certain, Claire, it’s that you and I have done just fine without magic to guide us so far and I’ve no doubt at all we will continue to do so,” he smiled at her for a moment. “Now, let’s forget about that and eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While the Badgers have an away game scheduled we're stuck with Frank a little longer but hang in there - Jamie will be back in town soon! I'm curious, do you agree with Frank’s analysis or are you more like Claire and inclined to believe that a vintage calendar could* possibly have magical properties?


	12. Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 11

The miniature red envelope fit only for a fairy looked even smaller sitting in the palm of Claire's hand. It was an odd choice for an advent calendar, she thought - until closer inspection uncovered a festive stamp in the top right corner and a mailing address possibly located at the North Pole. 

She made a face. _That’s more like it._

* * *

“Hello darling,” Claire greeted Frank with a kiss on the cheek and gestured to the piles of paperwork scattered over the table in front of him. “What’s all this?”

Frank picked up a pile of unopened letters and moved them out of the way as she took the seat next to him. “It's mostly paperwork for Harvard; it arrived in the mail today."

“That was quick.” She put down her bag and pulled the contract towards her. She’d had a very productive morning starting with a visit to the library to exchange books and ending with a stroll through the local market where she found conversation rather than items to buy. Now, though, her feet were sore and she kicked off her boots under the table and stretched before settling in to peruse the lengthy document. Overall it appeared to be fairly standard and very similar to those Frank had signed previously at Oxford. She reached the last page and looked up, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Frank?”

“Mmm?”

“You’ve already signed this.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I thought we were going to talk about this.”

“We did. Last night,” he put down his pen and looked up at her. “It was my understanding that you were on board with this. Us moving to Boston."

She didn’t know why he felt the need to specify that last part. Perhaps he thought there was a slim chance she was talking about something else. “We did talk a little last night, Frank,” she agreed, “about our relationship. _Not_ about moving to Boston.” 

“What more is there to talk about?” Frank asked more blankly than unkindly. “This is a fantastic opportunity, Claire." He reached out to place his hand on hers and squeezed reassuringly. "And there are so many more opportunities that await the both of us in Boston. I would _never_ agree to something like this without taking you into consideration, I promise.”

Claire fingered the paperwork in front of her as she thought over his words. She didn’t doubt they could make the best of it in Boston, that _she_ could make the best of it. If the past ten years had taught them anything it was how resilient they were. How adaptable. How determined. Not only as individuals but also as a couple. But were the opportunities in question the ones she was actively seeking? 

Looking for answers, she pulled a stack of flyers towards her.

 _A Local's Guide to Boston, The History of Harvard University: A Virtual Tour..._ She took her time going through the documents on hand and tried her best to get enthusiastic about the prospect of moving to Boston, she really did, but she soon found her attention wavering and by the time she read the same line four times in a row she gave up, choosing instead to pull out her phone and scrolled through the feel on her favourite app. 

She glanced at the overly staged photos of small children belonging to childhood friend’s of hers, the festive recipes and the obligatory sunrise/sunset photos but paused when she came to a short clip on the Badgers account. ‘Badgers last goal of the evening scored by #21 Willie Thompson 🚨 Badgers 3 - 1 Devils #LetsGoBadgers’ the caption read. She had a quick look through the comments and wondered if they had had any luck securing a new sponsor for the Arena. 

“Frank?”

“Mmm?”

“What do you think about donating some money to the Inverness Ice Arena’s Christmas Appeal? I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“If you like, dear. You needn’t ask me before spending your money.”

_Well, that answered that question, didn’t it?_

Determined to not let Frank’s lack of generosity get her down she continued absentmindedly scrolling through social media until she had decided on an amount that she thought was both reasonable and hopefully significant enough to make a difference to the people of Inverness.

And then she decided something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claire didn’t seem to have much to say on the matter and we ended up with a particularly short chapter. Do you think she was convinced by Frank’s platitudes or she has something else in mind?
> 
> [edited to exclude my mid-story existential crisis - you guys are the best and it's because of all your love and support I have the courage to post this story... so thank you!]


	13. Fairy Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 12

Claire picked up today’s figurine, turning it this way and that in the dim morning light. 

A bundle of multi coloured fairy lights were, in her opinion, the strangest thing to come from the vintage calendar yet. It was almost like every time she - or Frank - declared a figurine strange, unusual or ‘not very festive’ the calendar took it upon itself to produce something even more wild and abstract. If... such a thing was possible. 

Despite her previous conversation with Frank on the matter, she had still been somewhat suspicious of the calendar's ability to _seemingly_ predict upcoming events and the idea that it was guiding hers and Frank's relationship still lingered in the back of her mind, even now.

She placed the fairy lights next to the ‘letter’ and events that had followed yesterday's mail delivery came to mind. While she had come to a decision early on in the day she was yet to share it with Frank. She wasn’t sure why she was so hesitant to start that conversation. She wasn’t worried about his reaction, per se. Unhappy he might be by her decision, Frank was never one to act out, irrationally or otherwise. If anything he could be _too_ rational at times.

No, what had her holding back was the thoughts the vintage calendar brought to mind.

 _Was the letter a sign the move to Boston was the next step in rebuilding their relationship, that it was the right thing to do?_ Just like last night, she dismissed the idea almost as quickly as it came to mind. 

She was continually searching for guidance and reassurance in places where there wasn't any. That, in itself, told her everything she needed to know.

_It was time._

* * *

“I’m staying here.”

Frank barely looked up from his paperwork at her announcement. 

“Oh? That’s probably for the best. It’s really not the most efficient use of your time. The Arena has a rich history, yes, but no fiscally responsible businessman would ever invest in such a venture. With the amount of updates and installations needed to meet the standards set by the Hockey League, well, it simply would take far too long for the Arena to even begin to turn a profit. And,” he paused to switch out books, “we’re only visiting. I really don't know why you ever felt the need to invest your own personal time and energy into such a project.”

“No, not _here_ ,” Claire took a deep breath and set her shoulders. “What I mean to say is... I’m not coming with you to Boston.”

Oh, _now_ she had his attention.

“Not coming to Boston?” He looked at her blankly, eyelids blinking rapidly in the early morning light.

"It's not what I want," she offered as an explanation.

“What- not what you want? I don’t understand. We have been talking about this for days. You never expressed any kind of discontent with our plan to emigrate.”

“No, Frank. You have been talking about this for days. And they are wonderful plans. For _you_ ," she emphasised softly, her hand out, palm upward. "The truth is I don't fit into your plans. And I have plans of my own. Big plans. I had thought Mrs Graham’s calendar to be a sign we were meant to be together despite our differences, to reconnect," she admitted without embarrassment, "but I realise now that I was simply projecting my hopes and dreams on an inanimate object because I _knew_ something was missing. Something between us. And I think… I think the relationship we've envisioned for ourselves is never going to become reality. We're just… too different."

“You’re breaking up with me over a calendar? Claire,” Frank shook his head and then tilted his chin down and raised a brow, his voice deepening as he did so. “Be realistic.”

Her frustration at him once again only listening to half of what she said resurfaced, threatening to bleed into her inflection. She willed herself to refocus. “That’s just it Frank, I _am_ being realistic. About us. About our future. We don’t want the same things in life,” she shook her head slowly, giving him time to think her words over. “We have different interests, different plans. We would be foolish to think each other might change. We have known each other a long time now… we _both_ know that’s unlikely to happen.”

They both chuckled at that and a heavy underlying tension between them she hadn't known was present dissipated as the seconds passed.

“And you’re sure about this?”

Claire nodded firmly. “Yes.”

Frank started packing his books into a small pile, loose paperwork on top. “Well, if there’s no real need for me to linger in town and I work quickly, I may be able to deliver my signed contract by hand.” He picked up his things and walked over to Claire. He delivered a brief kiss to her cheek. “I wish you all the best, Claire.”

She gave him a sad but genuine smile in return. “And I you, Frank.”

And just like that he was gone. 

From the B&B. 

From Inverness. 

From her _life_. 

Despite the suddenness of her announcement, their separation hadn’t come as a surprise to either of them, not really. How quickly they had both accepted the outcome was evidence of that. They were never going to reconnect after their reunion, no matter how much they wished it, and she was more than confident in her decision to stay. 

Still, it wasn’t until much later, when she had settled on the window seat in her silk red pajamas, hair in a messy bun and a teacup clasped in both hands, that she truly came to terms with the ending of their relationship.

She was alone. 

Truly alone for the first time in a long time. 

Even when she and Frank had been separated by distance she had never been truly alone, be it sharing a military tent, tending to one patient after another for hours on end or just simply knowing that Frank was on the other end of the phone if needed. Now, though, she had no-one to answer to, no-one to take care of, no-one to consider before making decisions, plans... or even dinner.

She stared out the window, the snow falling past the multi colored fairy lights decorating the street outside, each one a stark contrast to the dark sky that had set over Inverness. 

She would be lying if she said she wasn’t scared. She was, of course. But... she was also a little excited. The lights had become blurry and she blinked a few times as she pulled her eyes away. She looked down, instead, at the little fairy light figurine sitting on the window sill in front of her and studied it for a moment. She rolled her eyes and laughed, a new lightness about her that filled her with both joy and merriment.

_A magic calendar. How ridiculous._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: ‘Your breaking up with me over a calendar?’ is a direct quote from The Holiday Calendar! I'm sorry it took so long for Claire to arrive at this place but I felt if this story was going to be told in just 25 days she needed to be sure of her decisions. There's simply no time to linger on unimportant things (more than necessary). Luckily she's come to this decision just before she sees Jamie again *wink wink*. 
> 
> On a scale of Four Christmases to Elf how excited are you to finally say goodbye to Frank?


	14. Ornament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 13

Claire didn’t take much time in adding the shiny red ornament she found behind door thirteen to the collection of figurines on the mantle. 

It was rather uninteresting, she thought, and only served to remind her of Frank’s words a few nights prior: _Coming across things like candy canes and gingerbread cookies is inevitable with or without an old calendar_. She only needed to look two feet away to find a real life version just like this one and was sure to find another one (or dozen) no matter where she went. 

She sat down in her armchair and tapped her fingers on the edge, the rhythm changing every few minutes or so. The thought of Frank lingered and there was nothing she could do but notice how empty the apartment felt without two of them to fill it. 

The room felt colder. The clock ticked louder. The shadows somehow felt heavier.

 _Ugh._ She could hardly stand it. 

Ten minutes later, she decided she needed a distraction.She jumped out of the chair and stalked across the room to her phone and dialed Mrs Graham’s number. With any luck the older woman wouldn’t mind her calling this time of the morning. 

* * *

Claire felt oddly self conscious as she walked through the market, a ridiculous thought sitting in the back of her mind that others might be able to tell just by looking at her what had happened between her and Frank. 

Tell how their relationship had failed. 

And that she was now a single woman dependent only on herself.

 _That_ thought bolstered her somewhat. Independence, she knew, was something to be proud of and something she had strived to hold on to while in the army. It hadn't been easy, holding a stereotypically feminine role in a unit that was overwhelmingly made up of men - and almost certainly under the command of male officers. She had always made sure to hold her own, to never show weakness except for during those quiet moments alone in the dark when she could release all her pent up energy, her emotions and her frustrations without anyone around to witness her true self.

And so she didn't understand why now, as a civilian in Inverness of all places, she felt the way that did. Was it the absolute loss of structure in her life, perhaps, that had her reeling? This was her goal, she reminded herself, that this separation from Frank was her chance to start afresh. 

It was with that thought in mind, she headed straight to the Arena. When she got there she paused at the bottom of the stairs and took a deep breath. 

“I hope you weren’t waiting out here for me, dear.”

Claire turned to find Mrs Graham standing next to her, numerous bags in both hands, and smiled. “Hello.”

“You’ll be sure to catch a cold standing out here too long,” the woman clicked her tongue good naturedly and nudged her gently with her elbow. “Let’s get inside where it’s warm.”

Claire tried to take some of her bags but the woman only clicked her tongue again and maneuvered away, leaving her no other choice but to follow in her footsteps.

Her phone call with Mrs Graham earlier that morning had been an easy one largely due to Frank having already informed the Reverend and, by default, Mrs Graham of his early departure and, as such, it had taken very little encouragement for her to agree to join the Festival Committee, if only for as long as she was in town. The decision had been spontaneous at best and one she had begun to second guess as the morning went on but as the two of them settled in amongst the other members in the function room she felt a warmth that had her forgetting her doubts . 

The meeting followed on from the one she attended last, beginning with updates on the now very active social media accounts. This time, though, she didn’t hesitate sharing more of her ideas.

“I was thinking,” she paused as chose an item at random from one of the many platters of sweets being passed around, “what if we live stream the players baking some cookies? We wouldn’t need the whole team - just a few to volunteer their time - and it could include a live Q&A to keep the audience’s attention while the cookies are in the oven?”

The response was positive with almost everyone nodding their heads in agreement. 

“The men are in training right now,” one of the other ladies piped up. “We could catch them before they leave the Arena for the day. With the Christmas Party only 10 days away we cannae be wasting any time.”

Another round of agreement travelled around the room and they quickly moved on the next topic. Before long, lists were finalised, plans were made and posts had been shared on personal social media accounts. One of the ladies moved to gather the now empty platters and Claire stood quickly.

“Please, let me.”

The women relinquished the task without fuss and, being only a short walk to the kitchen, Claire quickly discovered she was to be in it alone. She walked across the black and while linoleum carefully. Even without the presence of Mrs Fitz. she was hesitant to touch or disturb too much. She found the soap in the cupboard under the sink and got to washing. As the suds rinsed off the last platter she couldn’t help but chuckle. Just as she had suspected earlier that morning, generic Christmas ornaments could be found anywhere: the serving dish had a bold red ornament in the centre, the faded gold accents a testament not only to its age but frequent use. 

“I’m curious to know what’s so funny about washing the dishes, Sassenach.”

The dish slipped through her fingers but she caught it just in time before it hit the bottom of the sink and turned to scowl at Jamie who was leaning casually against the door frame. It had little effect on him though, the smirk remaining on his face even as he wiped his brow with the towel slung over his shoulder, freeing his damp curls from where they had clung to his skin.

“Don’t scare me like that!” She scolded even as the corners of her mouth crept upwards. She placed the dish on the drying rack. “I doubt anyone will be laughing if Mrs Fitz. finds out I broke something.”

“Och, no,” Jamie moved across the kitchen with an established confidence and opened the door to a set of cabinets. “All ye would have to do is mention I was here and she would ken I'm the one to blame for any trouble that befalls this kitchen.”

“Do you cause trouble that often?”

Jamie laughed. “Once upon a time, as a young lad, I was banned from even stepping inside.”

Claire pulled back cautiously, increasing the distance between them. “And now?”

Jamie looked over his shoulder at the door and then turned back to her, whispering theatrically, “Fergus made her realise there’s a lot worse things than _me_ being in her kitchen.” He winked at her and pulled out a mug from the cabinet. “Hot drink?”

“Oh. Yes, please.”

Claire wiped up the platters and set them aside neatly and settled herself down on a stool as she watched Jamie make the drinks. It was taking an awful long time and she found herself struggling not to ask what in heaven’s name he was doing. 

Her patience paid off, however, as she was eventually presented with an elaborate looking drink: a festive mug topped with whipped cream, white chocolate shavings and… “Cookie crumble?” 

“Ah, gingerbread to be precise.”

Rather than respond she simply lifted it her lips and sipped at it delicately. _Mmm_. “Gingerbread Latte.”

Jamie nodded and picked up his own mug. “Not quite like the one my Mam used to make but I like to think it’s close.”

Knowing that the drink held sentimental value, Claire paid a little more attention the second time around. Hints of cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves danced on her tongue and she wondered what else might be in it to bring out the espresso flavour so.

While the silence between them was comfortable, the words soon started flowing as they continued to drink and she found herself sharing details of her past career, her life-long interest in botany, and her plans to combine the two after the new year. It wasn’t until Jamie mentioned Frank that she realised how comfortable she had become in the Scot’s presence, the embarrassment and self consciousness she had been feeling in the wake of their breakup all but completely dissipated. 

“Is he also into this… what did ye call it? Ethnobotany?”

“Oh… no,” Claire shook her head. “He’s gone.”

Jamie’s cup paused half way to his mouth. “Gone, ye say?”

“Back to Oxford,” Claire took a sip of her drink carefully lest she get any of the remaining cream on her upper lip. She shuddered internally at the thought. “And then on to Boston. He’s taken a position at Harvard University.”

“...and Boston doesn’t fit into yer plans?” Jamie guessed. 

“Mmm,” She nodded once again. “It could have, of course, the practical application of native plants is hardly exclusive to the United Kingdom,” she paraphrased Frank’s words, knowing them to be true even if she hadn’t agreed they were a good enough reason to go with him at the time. “But I don’t want to do something just because I can. I know very well I can _do_ and achieve a lot of things but I have been dreaming of establishing a-a... home base, you might say, for so long that - oh, gosh,” she covered her face with her hands and groaned. “You must think me terribly conceited and self-centred.”

When Jamie didn’t say anything she looked up with some trepidation and found him looking at her with an unusual look on his face marred by what she thought to be hesitation. 

“What?” She asked slowly, afraid that he might not only confirm that he did think her so but have even more to say on the matter. Instead, he surprised her completely by changing the subject. 

“I hope ye dinnae think me too forward in askin’, Sassenach, but... do ye have anything planned fer tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Claire’s brow furrowed. “Nothing at all. Why do you ask?”

“There are some things that need delivering out west and, if yer willing to come along for the drive, there’s something I would verrae much like to show ye. I have a feeling ye’d really like it.”

Claire studied him as she thought his offer over. It crossed her mind that he was only asking her to accompany him because he felt sorry for her, single and all alone on holiday during the festive season but then she realised she might just be projecting her own thoughts and insecurities onto Jamie a little bit. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt to the point of not even asking what it was he planned on showing her, she smiled at him. “I’d love to.”

It wasn’t until much, much later she realised she had forgotten to ask him about participating in the live Q&A.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frank's been gone less than a day and Jamie's already inviting Claire places… What do you think Jamie is planning on showing Claire tomorrow? Any (G-rated) ideas?


	15. Boots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 14

Claire glanced at the clock again. Ten to eight.

She, herself, had been ready for a while now and was close to completing all her morning chores, plus some, while waiting for Jamie to pick her up. As close as it was to the time Jamie had told her the day before she walked over to the front window and looked out in time to see Jamie climbing out of a rather sleek looking blue pick up truck. 

Not wanting to linger a moment longer in the cold apartment she shrugged on her coat, grabbed her purse and the keys sitting in the bowl on the one of the side tables. 

She slowed down as she passed the calendar and peeked inside door number fourteen. A little pair of winter boots sat waiting and, contrary to her usual practice of adding it to the mantle, she turned back to her room quickly and flung open the wardrobe. She grabbed her combat boots sitting on the bottom and shoved them in a carry bag along with her scarf and hat before finally heading out the door. 

She had no idea what Jamie planned on showing her today and it never hurt to be prepared.

* * *

Rays of sunlight filtered through the tall pine trees and the light seemed to glitter upon Jamie’s curls as they drove along the winding road. 

“What are ye thinking, Sassenach?”

Claire jerked slightly not only at the sudden words but the realisation that she had been staring. And he had noticed. _JHRC. Had he noticed?_

Her mind moved quickly. 

“I was wondering what our plan is for today. You mentioned you have some deliveries to make?”

“Aye. The boxes are all loaded in the back and Auld Alec, just up ahead, is the first of… nine stops we need to make today.” 

“And what you wanted to show me?”

“We’ll go there last. And we best not linger too long anywhere if we’re to make it there in daylight. So, I’ll warn ye now, Sassenach. A lot of people who live in the Highlands dinnae see many people throughout the winter months and they’re likely to want to make up for it in the short time we’re visiting.”

She was well aware Jamie had evaded answering her question but in truth she was enjoying the mystery of it all. The places. The people. Their final destination. “Hmm… do you think we need to come up with a code of some sort, just in case?”

“Och, no. I dinnae mean to make it sound like it’s going to be a problem,” Jamie laughed. “I just dinnae want ye to be surprised, is all. That being said... if ye see me struggling at any point, please do feel free to interrupt.”

"That I can do."

It wasn’t long before they turned up the driveway to Auld Alec’s and as the day progressed Claire started to understand the deliveries were a pretence for checking on the health and safety of the residents living alone in the western shires. Her offers to help in any way had fallen on deaf ears, his and the resident’s alike, and so she had used the time to get to know the people they were visiting. And get to know them, she did.

Eleanor Hendry’s only grandson was an officer in the Air Force and currently stationed overseas and Claire did her best to allay the woman’s fears while Jamie added more split wood to the small pile by the back door. 

Laila Beattie was disappointed Fergus hadn’t been able to come with them as she wanted him to have the honor of naming her ninth cat and so Claire took a photo of said cat on her phone and promised to show it to Fergus and have him call her on the home phone with his decision as soon as possible.

Arran Jack’s wife passed away just some months ago and when the man had lamented how he still had so many things he wished he could say to her and Claire had offered to listen on her behalf, sounds of Jamie shoveling snow from the side path in the background.

Harrison Innes was a grumpy old bastard who took great pleasure in barking instructions from the kitchen window all the while claiming he would not only do it himself if he still had his left leg, he would do it _well_ , too. It gave Claire time, however, to notice the slight tremor in his left hand and ask some pointed questions before calling his doctor to arrange a home visit.

A woman known only as Senga held Claire back as Jamie emptied out the living room hearth lest her beautiful clothes gathered soot only to then insist she be the one to start a new fire as the chimney happened to be ‘a stubborn thing’ and often needed ‘a woman’s touch’. 

Blake Greyson shook his head as his long term partner Calvin, a long retired pastry chef, plied each of them with fruit mince pies and black tea as Jamie pulled a ladder out from somewhere and checked all the gutters.

Oskar Greg, the owner of a small corner store/takeaway, had refused to take any of Jamie’s ‘hard-earned’ money when they had stopped for sandwiches between destinations.

Kasey Sim, a single mother of four young children who worked from home, was so thankful when Jamie offered to build snowmen with the children outside while she had a quiet moment for herself she had practically wept with joy.

Her favourite, though, had to be old Lorna MacDonald, a particularly short woman with curly grey hair and wrinkles so deep they could be seen from quite a distance, who was already waiting by the garden gate when they pulled to a stop. Jamie jumped out and Claire followed as he pulled a small box off the back of the truck and made his way up the path.

"Latha brèagha a tha ann," [Good day (to you), hello!] Jamie greeted the woman in Gaelic, a smile on his face.

"Tha thu fadalach." [You are late.] While Claire was unsure of the woman’s reply, she could tell the woman wasn’t at all pleased as she leaned heavily on her walking stick, a deep frown on her face. That didn’t deter Jamie, however, and Claire quietly followed the two of them up to the front porch of an old but very well cared for rustic style home. 

As soon as Jamie placed the box down on the round garden table the woman tugged on his sleeve to turn him around. “Let me look at you.” She looked him over and smiled at him fondly. “So tall.” The frown returned and she shook her head. “So skinny. What you need is a good meal. You rest here for a moment or two and I’ll see if there’s anything that might take yer fancy.”

The woman turned toward the front door but Jamie stopped her before she could get too far. “I’m afraid I cannae linger today, Mrs Mac. I’ve company.”

“Well,” the woman adjusted her glasses and squinted slightly as she eyed Claire with interest. “Who’s this?”

“Mrs Mac., this is Claire. She’s visiting from down south for the holidays. Claire, this is the lovely Lorna MacDonald, most well known for her homemade spaghetti,” Jamie lowered his voice slightly, “to which I can attest is the best in the region.”

“Oh, you!” Lorna poked her walking stick at one of Jamie’s steel capped boots. “Ye ken if Doreen heard ye say that she would be making spaghetti for days just to prove ye wrong. And I cannae be eating that much spaghetti!” It was Lorna’s turn to lower voice when addressing Claire. “Too much salt. Terrible for your health, too much salt. You remember that now.”

The grin on Jamie's face only grew brighter and she could just guess how funny he thought it was for her, a qualified health professional, to be receiving nutritional advice from the ‘lovely’ Mrs Mac.

“So, where are ye off to then?”

“I’m taking Claire to Gàrradh Geamhradh.”

“Ah?” Lorna’s eyebrows rose and Claire’s interest followed suit. 

Never one to miss an opportunity, Claire put on what she hoped was an innocent face and asked, “Gàrradh Geamhradh?”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Lorna wagged a finger. “Ye have to wait to see it with yer own two eyes. And you,” she poked Jamie in the chest and it was Claire’s turn to smile, “dinnae be telling her when I’m not around to stop ye. I’ll be verrae displeased wit ye. And don’t you go thinking I willnae ken, young James. I’ll ken. Bidh a bhuil ann!” [You'll see what will happen.]

It was an entertaining sight, Jamie looking as meek as can be in front of a woman that must be a good 2 feet shorter and she was more than happy to watch it continue but, remembering the plan they had established in preparation earlier in the day, Claire spoke up. “Is there anything else we can help you with today, Lorna?”

“Oh, no, no, no, oh, you lovely thing, no,” Lorna reached out and patted Claire on the arm. “Ye’d best be off. There’s no light tae waste.” She turned back to Jamie. “What are you doing, James Fraser, still standing here talking to a little auld lady like me when ye’ve got this beautiful lass waiting for ye? Go on then! And take those empty boxes with ye. They’re messing up my garden, they are. Put them on the back of that beastly vehicle of yers. Yes, right there. That’ll do. Now, a-mach leat!” [Now, away with you.]

Claire looked down into the side mirror as they wound their way down the drive and eventually out of sight. “I think she’s still talking.”

“Probably instructing me how to drive, I reckon.”

Claire laughed and turned around to see what, if anything, was left in the back. "Is that it then? Lorna’s was the last one?"

“Aye. Mrs Mac. claimed we were late arriving but, thanks to you, we actually arrived a half hour earlier than I usually do.”

“Thanks to me?”

“Tending to chores and having a sit down is a lot easier when there’s the two of ye. When it comes to both Laila Beattie and Senga I’m usually there twice a long as we were today.”

Claire thought that over. She hadn’t realised that she had been helping Jamie all along by keeping the residents company as he worked. She had, after all, started the day out thinking they were simply making deliveries. Looking back now, she could see how Jamie had never rushed, and certainly never complained, no matter the task at hand. 

“I wish I had learned some Gaelic before today. Everyone we visited spoke a mixture of both Gaelic and English that meant communicating wasn’t a problem but I’m sure there are some things I must have missed. Like Mrs Mac, claiming we were late for example.”

“Ach, my apologies, Sassenach. You seemed to be having a fine time and I didnae stop to think I might need tae translate some things. I cannae remember anything specific now,” he clucked his tongue in disappointment, his shoulder sagging.

“That’s alright,” Claire assured him. “I didn’t expect you to. I think most residents realised pretty quickly that I wasn’t from around here and stuck to English when it was just us. What I am curious to know now, though, is where it is we’re going now.”

Jamie perked back up. “Actually I _can_ tell you something else Mrs Mac. said. She said I would find out what happens if I ruin the surprise for ye. And the way she said it suggested I wouldnae like it at all.”

“There’s no changing your mind then, is there?”

Jamie glanced at her briefly then said simply, “No.” Claire crossed her arms, sighing in protest, and smiled at the hearty laugh it produced from her guide. “What I want to know, is how you managed to get auld Harrison Innes to not only let you inside his house but tend to his person. He has never invited me inside. Not once.”

“Oh, that was nothing,” Claire uncrossed her arms and wiggled a little as she settled into her seat, leaning her head back slightly. “I’ve certainly dealt with worse in the past. Inevitable in my line of work, really.” A particular image of a man with salt and pepper hair lying on a bed drenched in sweat flashed across her mind and for the first time in a long time she felt like maybe she could share. “He… reminded me of someone actually.”

“Oh?”

“I was part of a peacekeeping mission on the African continent. A few years ago, now.” Her words came out stilted and she waited a moment for Jamie to say something. When nothing was forthcoming she continued. “I was stationed at a field hospital majority of the time but also took part in some outreach missions. Those are harder. In my opinion.” She paused again and this time she saw Jamie glance over at her out the corner of her eye. He was definitely listening but she couldn't decide if that was a good or a bad thing. “People who arrive at an established hospital or clinic usually want help. But distrust of strangers and distrust of army personnel, in particular, often keep people from seeking the help they need. And it’s completely understandable. But it can make providing healthcare really challenging at times.”

She rolled her head to the side and looked out at the trees passing by. It looked so peaceful out here. Fresh, almost, untouched by humans as it was.

“ _Anyway,_ ” she sat up straight and scolded herself internally. _How long had she been staring out the window? JHRC._ “There was an older fellow living in a run down cottage, suffering from an unknown condition. Despite his neighbour’s pleading, he adamantly refused our help. He knew he needed help, there was on doubt about that, but he was scared and most certainly in pain.”

“What did you do?”

“We coordinated with the neighbour to bring members of their community to him one at a time while we continued on with our work. To tell him in person how important he was to them and the reasons why they wanted him to continue to play an active part their lives. It wasn’t about guilting him into getting the attention he needed, you understand? It’s a very personal decision and there needs to be a certain amount of trust in the process to open yourself up like that. But I believe we all play a role in helping others understand they need not suffer alone and one of the biggest and well known motivators is having loved ones around you, conventional or no.”

“So what happened?”

“In the end he sought us out and told _us_ what to do, can you believe? All the while declaring he was only there to get his community off his back and leave him in peace.” She chuckled and then took a deep breath. “So. In summary. Harrison Innes? Not a problem.”

Jamie looked over at her a couple of times. “I have to say...”

Oh, no. She’d said too much. She steeled herself for what was to come and prompted, “...yes?”

Jamie must have noticed her inner turmoil for his next words were soft but confident. As if he was sure of each and every one of them. And he wanted her to know it. “I’m sae thankful ye agreed to come on this trip wi’ me today.”

 _Oh._ She smiled at him while internally thanking him for lightening the mood. It was just what she needed. “Me too.”

Jamie slowed the truck down and indicated as they turned off the main road onto one lined with gravel and then again onto a single dirt road thirty minutes later. As the foliage slowly got thicker so too did the mood inside the vehicle. Jamie, she thought, seemed a little excited if somewhat pensive and she kept her eyes out the window looking for any hint of what was to come.

It was slow going but eventually Jamie pulled the truck to a complete stop and pushed open his door only to slam it shut again. 

“Ach. Dammit," he groaned. "I didn’t think.”

Claire swivelled in her seat and raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think what?”

“To make sure ye brought some proper boots for the trek. I forgot what the trail’s like this time of year.”

Claire took off her seatbelt and reached bodily over into the back seat for her bag. Once back in her seat, she pulled out the very boots she had packed that morning. “You mean, something like these?”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Jamie laughed, relief carrying along with the sound. “I would have felt like a right numpty asking you to choose between me picking you up and throwing you over my shoulder or turning around and going home.” He shook his head. “You are full of surprises, Sassenach.”

Claire just shrugged. “I like to be prepared.”

“Well, I am so verrae glad that’s true.”

Boots laced and ready to go, Claire took Jamie’s waiting hand and climbed out of the truck.

Jamie led the way, travelling along a path that only he could see and Claire trusted him not only to arrive at their destination safely but also to get back later. Before long Jamie ducked through a small opening in the copse and Claire followed, his tall frame blocking her view, leaving her waiting until he moved out the way to see what it was he wanted to show her.

And when she finally got a glimpse all she could so was stand there completely dumbfounded. 

“What do you think?”

“I think…” She couldn’t even look away to address Jamie directly. “I think it is _incredible_. How…?”

It was a garden, full of native wildflowers, herbs and shrubs, the size of a large swimming pool and, thanks to a thick canopy of tree branches above, completely free from snow. 

“This shouldn’t be possible. Look at these,” she leant over and ran a gloved hand gently over the moss campion on her right. “They’re _flowering_. How is this possible?”

“I dinnae ken. I’m no’ sure anyone does. My Mam used to say the branches overhead created a greenhouse effect but I’ve also heard it’s the soil that makes it different to any other part of the forest.”

Now that he mentioned it, she could feel a slight difference in the air. The soil, however, she wasn’t so sure of. “You used to come here with your mother?”

“Aye. She too was interested in the flowers and whatnot,” he walked slowly along what might be a worn foot trail and put a hand on the trunk of a tree. “When we would come here, with my brother and my sister, my mother would tell us stories. Tree faeries, for example.” He dropped his hand and swallowed thickly before looking back at Claire. “She died while I was still young but I like to come back here every now and again. To remember her and the time we spent together.” 

“She sounds like a wonderful mother.”

“Aye. She was.”

Together they slowly continued to make their way along, pausing every now and again.

“You grew up near here, then?”

Jamie nodded. “Our homestead, Lallybroch, is not too far from here. It's Jenny's now. She took over when our father passed away a couple of years ago.

“Would you have gone to see them if you hadn't taken the time to bring me here?”

“Dinna fash. Jenny might be a bit annoyed with me for no’ stopping by, true, but I’ll video chat with her later tonight - before anyone else has the chance to tell her, ken? She’ll understand. Anyway, she and Ian will be bringing the bairns to Inverness for the Christmas Party. I’ll see them all soon enough.” 

Unable to argue with that, Claire continued on and soon found herself on her own unique path having been drawn to so many different and unusual but no less beautiful floras. The more she investigated the garden the more overwhelming it all became. She pulled out her phone and started snapping some photographs in the hope she could match them to the descriptions listed in her books back at the B&B.

“Ye can take some pieces with ye, ye ken?”

“I can?” Hope bubbled up in her chest but it soon faded when she thought over the practicality of it. “Even if I did, I have nowhere to store them. Even if I could rummage up something, there’s just not enough space at Mrs Baird’s.”

“Ye can store them in one for smaller rooms at the Arena. Perhaps even set up a table and chair as to study them all ye like. Colum willnae have a problem wi’ it.”

“Are you absolutely certain?” Claire asked even as her fingers itched to reach out to do exactly what Jamie was suggesting. “I don’t want to disturb anything here or cause any problems at the Arena.”

“I assure ye, Sassenach. It willnae be a problem. I even tell ye that in years past many of the tenants at Lallybroch would make wreaths and sometimes garlands out of vines just like these, and the plants have never waned.” 

That was enough for Claire. She took just enough of the smaller plants and herbs to identify, while the evergreens and some of the everlastings Jamie pointed out were in such abundance she didn’t hesitate in harvesting a little more of those. Jamie’s offer to carry them back to the car for her only encouraged her all the more. 

Once back, they began the long drive back to Inverness and Claire couldn’t stop thinking about the garden. She pulled out her phone and browsed through some of the close up photographs she took. Even now, it still seemed unbelievable. She put her phone down as they slowed down passing through a small town and Claire spotted a group of children playing out on the ice in the dwindling afternoon light.

“When is it you play again?”

“Tomorrow. This time we’re headed to Sheffield.”

She swivelled her head to look straight at him. “So soon? Didn’t you just play a game a couple of days ago?”

“Aye, we did,” Jamie glanced at her briefly. “But it’s no’ unusual to play two games in a week. There’s more games to play than there are weeks in the season, ye ken? Then, of course, some games get postponed - usually due to weather.”

“Oh,” she nodded and went back to looking out the window as she thought that over. No wonder so many people were fans of the game if there was always something to watch. “Do you like playing away games?”

“I hate that they take me away from Fergus.” 

Claire could practically see the unspoken word on his lips and said it out loud for him. “...But?”

Jamie laughed. “ _But_ … I like the challenge. People often see home games as an advantage and that’s true to some extent. Having your friends and family crowding the stands is one of the best motivations you can have while out on the ice. You want to make them proud. And winning is a way of expressing your thanks to them for all the support they have given you - that they still give you. But getting the opportunity to defend the North at an away game? And winning? Och. It might take more blood and sweat than if we were at home but the satisfaction of bringing a victory home… there’s nothing like it.”

Claire understood what Jamie was talking about. Deployment, while much more serious, was similar in some ways. The unfamiliar terrain. The motivations to do a good job, to do the best one could. The wanting to make the people back home proud. “I can appreciate that.”

Jamie glanced at her again, a little longer this time. “Aye. I suppose you can.”

The sun had well and truly set by the time Jamie parked the truck outside the Arena and together they unloaded the truck with the things they had collected over the course of the day and, arms full, made their way inside.

As soon as they walked through the door it was obvious something was wrong. The room was abuzz with most if not all members of the team talking over one another while Dougal stalked backwards and forwards along the back wall. A few others including Fergus and Murtagh watched on silently. Agitation and, most notably, worry prominent on each and every one of their faces.

Jamie placed his boxes down on a table to the right and Claire followed his lead, watching carefully to see what he would do next.

Interestingly Jamie simply raised an eyebrow at Murtagh, no verbal cues needed between the two men, and the man slowly pulled himself up from where he was leaning against the wall next to Fergus as if it was the most bothersome task of all. 

“Beaton?” Jamie asked.

“Aye,” Murtagh confirmed and Jamie frowned.

“Beaton?” Claire repeated. _Was that a penalty of some kind?_

“Davie Beaton,” Jamie explained. “Team physician."

Oh. _Oh._ “Does that mean you can’t play tomorrow?” 

“Technically... we can still play," Jamie explained slowly not so much for her benefit, it seemed, but more so to give himself time to think over his answer. "The rules state the hosting team is responsible for having a physician on site. We’re not _required_ to bring ours with us.”

 _Then, why all the fuss?_ Claire wanted to ask but decided on something a little more diplomatic. "Why take someone at all if that’s the case?” 

“I think it would be wise to have a healer along,” Dougal surprised her. She hadn't realised he had come so close. His words were simple but Claire could sense there was more to it than that. “Especially one that does well under strain. And there's a lot of that on the road.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Claire didn’t think twice before offering her services. “I might not be a qualified physician but if ‘a healer’ is all you need I’m sure I could play the part just fine. It is only for an hour or so, yes?” When Dougal failed to respond straight away she continued. “I’ll supervise and record any treatment of your players as it happens and, should you give me his details, can video call Dr. Beaton if any trouble arises.”

Dougal studied her for a moment, his hazel eyes dark and unreadable, and Claire remained steady, more than confident in her ability to not only provide first aid until an on-site physician could attend but deal with the likes of Dougal MacKenzie and his bunch of unruly men while on the road. 

“So, that's the business settled,” Dougal nodded sharply. “We leave well before first light."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Claire's going on the road with Clan MacKenzie- Oops! I mean the Badgers! ;) Are you excited? This chapter featured some quotes from 1x04 The Gathering towards the end but in this version I imagine Dougal to be less gruff and intimidating and more... gruff but strangely likeable. In other words, someone who wouldn't just demand she come along whether she wants to or not. Not very Hallmark, that!
> 
> Translations: learngaelic [dot] scot


	16. Bonbon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 15

'Well before first light', it turned out, was 5 o'clock in the morning and _much_ too early for a woman on holiday, Claire thought as she checked her travel case one last time before heading out the door. Even though she had hardly slept the night before she didn’t regret her decision to offer her services for the day, the anticipation of needing to be somewhere - and being needed, if only for a few hours - had left a warm bubble of excitement in her chest and at this point she wouldn’t give it up for anything. 

Not even a couple more hours in bed. 

She paused by the vintage calendar on her way out to find a little red and gold bonbon waiting behind door number 15. She picked it up with her gloved hand and chuckled. She was tempted to put it in her pocket and carry it with her, so applicable it was to her current circumstances but placed it up on the mantle along with the others instead. 

While, like a Christmas bonbon, she had no idea what today would hold, carrying a little Christmas figurine in her pocket like a small child wasn’t going to help matters. Although one unexpected thought did cross her mind. _It would be nice to have someone to share it with._

* * *

Emotions on the bus were rather subdued so early in the morning though Claire doubted things would stay that way for long.

She had two seats to herself somewhere in the middle and it wasn’t 30 minutes into the 7 hour drive to Sheffield that she had her first visitor, an older, smartly dressed man with gray hair and black eye framed by old school wire rimmed spectacles. He indicated towards the seat beside her.

“Would you mind?”

“No, not at all. Please.” 

He sat down and then held out a hand. “Ned Gowan, team lawyer at your service.”

She accepted his hand with a smile. “Claire Beauchamp.”

“Yes, I’m well aware.” 

“Should I be concerned?” 

The man chuckled at the look of trepidation on Claire’s face. 

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no. I have heard many things about you, it’s true, but they are all good things, I assure, all good things. Young James has been particularly supportive of you coming along for the ride today, I have to say.”

Claire felt herself blush. “Is it normal practice for a lawyer to be part of a team? To travel with them?”

“Oh, no. I've just come along at Dougal’s request. You never know when one might be needed to look over a contract or oversee a monetary transaction. I'm the only one he'll trust with the paperwork, ye ken. I’m not sure if you're aware, the team is currently trying to secure new sponsorship before the end of the year?” When Claire nodded he continued. “Well, it helps to have a lawyer on board just in case. There’s little time for any back and forth. Very little time.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll be able to tell me what to expect from today’s game, then?”

“Ah, I’m afraid not. Avid Badgers fan, I may be, but contracts and negotiations are more my speciality - and I would be more than willing to offer my services should you ever need them, know that. I do believe, however, one of these young men onboard with us today could give you all the details should you only ask.” He patted her on the knee and swivelled out of his seat to stand up in the aisle. “I’ll leave you it, then.”

When Angus Mhor, the Badger’s ‘most feisty player’ according to yesterday’s _The Inverness Times_ , popped up from behind the seat in front of her she decided straight away not to ask his advice on anything. For one, she could hardly get a word in and, two, his accent was so incredibly thick she didn’t even have to pretend she didn’t understand half the things he was saying. She was doing him a favour, really, she thought. His jokes weren’t funny. Not in the slightest. If anything they were crude to the point of her starting to feel some intense second hand embarrassment. She shuddered. _Ugh._

One look from Jamie coming up the aisle, however, had him disappearing just as quickly as he had appeared. She offered him the seat next to her and said by way of greeting, “You’ll have to teach me how to do that sometime.”

“Hm? Do what?”

“That look. The one you gave to Angus just now.”

Jamie shook his head. “If I kent what ye were talking about I would happily oblige, Sassenach, but I cannae say I do.”

“I’ll have to just learn by experience, I suppose,” she sighed theatrically, happy with herself when he chuckled. “I had a wonderful time yesterday. I wanted to thank you again.”

“Och, there’s no need fer that,” he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, an action that demonstrated shyness, perhaps. “It was my pleasure.”

They smiled at each other for a long moment until the direct eye contact became a little too much and Claire asked, “Is Fergus at school today?”

“Aye and not happy about it either. I’m surprised he didn’t sneak into the luggage rack to tell ye the truth. He’s certainly done worse.”

“Truly?”

“Oh, the tales I could tell ye, Sassenach,” Jamie shook his head, the smile on his face telling a tale of its own. “But I wouldnae give him up for anything.” He sobered somewhat and his eyes clouded over. “Not voluntarily anyway.”

Knowing there was nothing she could do or say to make things better she offered up a distraction. “Ned Gowan suggested you might be able to give me an idea of what to expect today.”

“Oh, you talked to Ned?” 

Claire thought she could see the colour rising in his cheeks and she smiled. “Yes, he’s quite the character, I must say, and I’m especially glad to not be the only recent addition to the team. Can you tell me a little about your team physician? What he usually does, perhaps?”

“Weel, I can tell ye the healers of clan Beaton are famous through the Highlands and well trusted by the team, Davie especially so. He’s been around a long time, ken? When I was younger he would regale us wi’ tales of medicines of old that included things like pigeon’s blood, ant eggs and powdered human skull. But we willnae expect anything like that from ye, Sassenach. Just to be there when we need looking over and patching back up.”

“When,” Claire clarified. “Not if?”

Jamie chuckled. “You will soon find out that injuries are inevitable when it comes to this sport. If we can manage to keep it to the smaller ones, the ones that are easy to fix, we consider ourselves to be doing verrae well, in fact.”

“Well, that’s only slightly concerning.”

“Och, ye’ll do just fine. Dinnae fash. I best go talk strategy with Dougal. I’ll talk to ye later?”

“Absolutely.”

The rest of the trip went by rather quickly after that, anticipation growing as they arrived in the city and then again upon pulling in at their actual destination: Sheffield Stadium.

Once inside, Dougal directed her to a seat close to him, just one row back, and she was pleased to find herself sitting next to Ned. Being as early as they were, the stands were not yet half filled and she took her time looking around. Sheffield Stadium was much more modern than Inverness’ Ice Arena and not just because of its size. It had an enormous high quality colour jumbotron hanging from the centre of the arena that was currently rolling through headshots of the Steelers scheduled to take the ice as well as electronic billboards that looped 360 degrees around the stands on multiple levels. The onsite physician, she saw, was located a few rows behind the home team’s bench and wearing a headset that assumed kept him linked to the trainers below.

Thinking of the times she had found herself tending to Jamie’s ailments outside of the game she wondered just how much trouble the players could get themselves into as a collective.

The answer, it turned out, was a lot, though none of the events were serious enough for her to call Dr Beaton as promised, the main contenders for her attention were contusions around the feet and ankle, although a couple of nasty lacerations did bring her to the medical attendance room a time or two to oversee the application of topical skin adhesive or suturing, as needed.

While any injury was cause for concern, she was much more interested in the facilities available to the attending doctor than listening to Rupert MacKenzie’s complaints about missing out on the action happening out on the ice or or Willie Thompson’s insistence that ‘a bit of tape would do just fine for now’. With an onsite x-ray machine and dentistry tools permanently on hand the office was better equipped than some of the military sites she had worked at. 

All of it was incredible and by the time the final siren sounded Claire was grinning and not just because of the Badger’s win. 

It had been a completely different experience watching the game as a member of the medical team as opposed to someone in the general audience and it was one she found to be much more within her comfort zone. While she still might not understand the rules or the seemingly endless list of penalties and she most certainly had missed some if not all the most important parts of the game including some of the goals scored, she knew perfectly well how to look out for injuries and what to do when presented with one. 

The truth was, she enjoyed her profession too much _not_ to have fun. 

Someone with a camera skated out on the ice and the Badgers gathered together in front of the bench where Dougal, Murtagh and some of the side-lined players were still standing to pose for a photograph. Willie, being one of them, turned around and gestured to the door separating them. 

“Claire! Come down!”

She really didn’t think it right but hating the thought of Willie missing out due to her arguing and, quite frankly, being unable to resist his bright face filled with excitement she did as he asked and quickly went around and down to the bench. She stood next to Willie and smiled, hoping her discomfort at being included wasn’t showing. A few flashes later the team broke apart and started heading for the change rooms. Knowing that they wouldn’t be leaving for a while yet, she went back to her original seat and waited until almost all of the crowd had dissipated before making her own way down stairs to take a seat across from the change rooms.

It wasn’t too long after that the Badgers started to file out of the changerooms dressed in casual team clothing. Jamie, however, walked out in a rather smart dark grey suit and Badgers tie.

Her heart rate picked up and she stood, all the while searching her suddenly blank mind for something to say… 

The best she could do was: “Going somewhere?” 

“Aye,” he tugged a little at the knot around his neck. “Dougal’s scheduled a meeting with a potential sponsor and thought I best dress the part.”

“Well, I happen to think you look very respectable,” she brushed his hand away and adjusted his tie so that it sat a little more comfortably then took a step back. “Certainly worthy of sponsorship, in my opinion.”

“Thank ye, Sassenach.” Jamie glanced away and Claire followed his line of sight to where Dougal was standing alongside Ned, an impatient look on his face. “I’ll see ye later on the bus. Enjoy dinner with the boys. Dinnae let them get away with anything.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t. Good luck.”

Later, when they had been ushered into a reserved function room, it was clear she had underestimated the team’s capabilities when it came to causing a ruckus in a restaurant. Rupert, who had for some reason taken it upon himself to act as her guide for the evening, informed her it was so the team could dine in peace without people taking photos or coming up to ask for autographs but she suspected them being sequestered away so that other diners didn’t have to witness the team practically devouring their post-game meal was a much more likely reason. 

When the plates were cleared and only drinks and Christmas decorations remained the room was particularly raucous.

“Hey, Claire.”

Claire looked over at Rupert. He was holding out a red and green striped bonbon covered in glitter. “Will you pull my bonbon?’

“Hey!” Angus shoved at his teammate so hard Rupert had to grab on to the table for support with one hand. “What do ye think I am? Chopped liver?”

“Ye’ll have to forgive me, mo charaid. I would much prefer Miss Beauchamp’s hand over yours any day.” He turned back to Claire, and waggled his eyebrows some. “What do ye say? Will ye pull my bonbon?”

Claire opened her mouth, fully intending on telling Rupert in exact detail what he should do with said bonbon, when Murtagh reached over and grabbed it, almost flattening it as he slammed it back down on the table. 

“Just because Dougal isnae here doesnae mean ye can run yer mouth however ye please. After what she did for you today, ye should show her some damn respect.”

Rupert scowled back at Murtagh but apologised to Claire all the same. “Ach, I didnae mean anything by it, mistress, I swear. Just havin’ a bit o’ fun is all.” 

Rupert’s claim was so insincere she had to laugh. “Oh, you meant something, all right. In fact,” she indicated for him to lean closer and she lowered her voice, “I’m inclined to believe your use of this particular bonbon shows you’re overcompensating for something else. Something that’s... rather lacking, perhaps?”

She gestured downward with her eyes and Angus guffawed loudly. Even Murtagh cracked a crooked smile as Rupert just sat there staring at her open mouthed. Meanwhile, Claire simply winked at Willie who had been watching the entire interaction with wide eyes and sipped at her drink as though nothing had even happened. 

Eventually they made their way back onto the bus, well fed and fully rehydrated, and settled in for the long drive home. 10 minutes later Jamie, Dougal and Ned climbed on board and by the time Jamie had settled in next to Claire, tie gone and take away meal in his lap, they were moving.

“How did it go?”

“Not bad,” Jamie said slowly before taking a bite of what looked to be a chicken salad roll. He swallowed. “They seemed interested enough.” He held the little container of sweet potato fries out to her. “Would you like some?”

“Oh, no thank you. I’ve had plenty.”

Jamie acknowledged her with a nod of his head and continued. “No guarantees, but they’ve agreed to come out to the Arena on the 19th, the day of the Showcase. We already have some others on the attendance list and Dougal plans on making a real thing out of it. I think it’s going to be our last genuine chance at saving the Arena.”

“Well, it’s certainly better than no prospect at all,” Claire encouraged. “What does the Showcase involve exactly?” She couldn’t remember seeing a Showcase on the long list of Festival events but all that had really stood out to her at the time was the Christmas Party.

“It’s a chance for the kids to showcase their skills through set drills, competitions and a series of friendly games. A few of us will act as their coaches, referee when needed and keep score while the others will be in the crowd cheering them on. We invite the kid’s families to come and watch but not everyone will have someone there for them and so we like to stand in on their behalf.”

“It sounds like a big deal. Even without potential sponsors coming.”

“Aye, it is. The kids have been working really hard over the past couple of months and they’re excited to show off what they’ve learned.” Jamie took his time finishing off the last of his meal and then tucked the empty containers away in a bag under his seat. “I must thank ye for keeping me company while I ate, Sassenach.”

“It was my pleasure. If I had known I would have saved you a bonbon from dinner, too,” Claire couldn't help but snicker a little at the thought. “Just to round out the experience.”

“A bonbon,” Jamie parroted and raised an eyebrow, a reaction to the sound she just made rather than the word itself she thought. “What kind of bonbon?”

“Oh, just the normal kind. The ‘Christmas Cracker’ kind.”

Claire popped up in her seat to look around then popped back down. At Jamie’s quizzical look she explained, “I can’t see Rupert but when you get the chance you should ask about him about the ones we had at dinner tonight. They were rather interesting.”

Jamie nodded, the look of intrigue in his eyes very promising. “Aye, I will.” 

For the next few hours the bus was quiet with most of the passengers either asleep or watching something on their phone, headphones on. After a while, though, word of growing hunger grew louder and the bus began to slow down before pulling to a stop close to a well lit roadside diner. Interestingly, unlike all the other diners they had passed on the way, this one was smaller yet it was just as, if not more, busy. One of the first people to disembark, Claire stretched out as much as she could without looking like she was doing so in public as the rest of the men filed off the bus. 

Dougal appeared by her side. “Seems like the ideal time for an evening stroll.” 

She turned to look at him. While he wasn’t looking directly at her there was no doubt it was her he was speaking to. 

“Shall we?” He asked.

She considered begging off, tired as she was. Perhaps take the moment to remind him that she didn’t need someone to escort her, that she was perfectly capable of navigating her way to and from the bus without help but this was the first time Dougal had paid any real attention to her all day and she couldn’t help but be intrigued by his offer. So, she simply nodded and followed him past the diner.

The further they walked the more and more curious she became of their destination. Rather than enquire outright she asked, “Will we be meeting the others wherever it is we’re going?”

“No, we shall meet back at the bus, but there's a coffee stand nearby, and ye look like ye could use it.” He took a sharp left at the intersection. “Through here.” 

Her curiosity was hardly sated but considering the mood the man seemed to be in she decided it best not to voice what she was really thinking: _Bit of a climb for a drink, is it not?_

On any other occasion she might be hesitant if not worried about walking down an unknown path with a man she hardly knew but as it were the path was well lit, lined on either side with solar lights and there were so many people traveling to and fro it was difficult at times to stay on track. She also didn’t sense any ill intention from the gruff man, though she did suspect there was a reason for their side trek other than coffee.

Soon enough they had warm drinks in hand as promised, both ordered and paid for by Dougal despite her protestations. 

Claire took a sip, careful to test its temperature, and nearly spat it straight back out. Dougal, however, was gulping it like it was water and so she took in a second, slightly larger mouthful. Her face twisted at both the taste and the texture… she nearly gagged. Instead she fortified herself and gulped it down, willing to risk the liquid scalding her throat rather than leaving it in reach of her taste buds any longer than she had to. 

The first question surprised her.

“Who are you?”

Claire frowned at the question and turned her head to look at him, wondering if the sludge they were drinking possessed memory altering properties. “An English lady of Oxfordshire.” 

“That's what you'd have us believe.”

She turned around fully then and opened her mouth to respond to his accusation but Dougal continued before she could say anything. 

“You seem to be a lady of strong opinions, also.”

“There's no harm in an opinion.” 

Rather than arguing with her as she expected he simply continued on. “You've seen things. At the Arena. And on the road today. You tell the Board, and the Badgers will not just be moving home ground but completely disbanded. And so, ye’ll forgive me for asking. Are ye a spy?”

 _A spy?_ _Did he really think I might be spying on the Arena or the team? And if so, to what end?_ She shook her head slowly and made sure to enunciate her words lest the man confuse himself even further. “I'm not a spy.”

“Maybe not,” Dougal said simply and while his words were agreeable his expression told her he didn’t believe her one bit. “But you were awfully quick to volunteer yourself both for the Committee and to accompany us on the road. I can’t help but question your motivations for doing so.”

Claire’s eyes went wide, hardly believing the words coming out of Dougal’s mouth. “Yes,” she spluttered somewhat, “because I thought I could be of help.” 

“Are ye a spy for the League or for someone else, perhaps?” Dougal, undeterred, asked again and she lost her temper. 

After the long day they had had it was just too much.

“I am not a spy. I am plain Claire Beauchamp and nothing more,” she threw her head back and gulped down the last of her drink before practically jamming the cup into the nearby rubbish bin annoyed as she was. “There. Can we finally be done with it? Well?”

“Aye. Done it is,” Dougal studied her, his eyes as dark as the night air surrounding them. After a moment they seemed to clear back to their usual hazel colour. “I ken now ye're telling the truth.” 

She was taken aback somewhat, hesitant to believe a resolution was so easy to come by after the conversation they’d just had. “May I ask what convinced you?”

“St. Ninian's Espresso,” he lifted his own empty cup up into the light before letting it drop back down to his side. “Some folk call it the liar's drink. Tastes like the fumes of hell itself. So strong, it’s impossible to drink and maintain a farce.”

“If I had known that, I would have choked it down sooner.”

“Good thing ye didn’t, lass. It’d likely have burned your gizzard out,” he chuckled at the horrified look on her face. “Best we return now. Come.”

And just like that the interrogation was over. As annoyed as she was, if not completely insulted, by Dougal’s questioning she couldn’t help but be just a little pleased with the outcome. She suspected not everyone came away unscathed quite so easily. She ran her tongue over her teeth, sweeping away any remaining coffee residue.

_If only we needn’t have consumed the ‘fumes of hell itself’ in order to achieve it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This version Dougal might not be the kind to demand Claire go on the road with them but he sure as heck isn’t any less suspicious of her intentions. As you could probably tell, their private conversation was inspired by both 1x05 Rent and 1x06 The Garrison Commander and, while we will probably see the two talking again at some point, for now the man seems content enough. Thank goodness for that! Any guesses as to what's to come next?


	17. Stocking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 16

When Claire finally woke the next day the sun was high in the sky and rays of sunshine were streaming through the windows in the living area lending a natural warmth to both her and the rest of the apartment. Loathe to move too quickly, she pottered about for a while, first making a cup of tea and then looking to see what figurine the vintage calendar had presented her with today.

It was a red and green striped stocking and, unlike the generic kind seen in books and on television, this one was long and skinny to the point of having to be propped up with a tea light candle she had on hand in order to stand by the others on the mantle. 

Deciding it was time to be proactive, she set herself up at the kitchen table with her laptop, some brunch by her side. It didn’t take her long to prepare and then email her written report to Dr Beaton and soon enough events of the previous day filtered through her mind. 

The ghost of St. Ninian's Espresso ran across her tongue. 

She put down her piece of avocado toast in disgust and packed up her laptop as well as what she considered to be the most useful books she had on hand. She finally had time to go over the flora she and Jamie had brought back from Gàrradh Geamhradh and stored at the Arena. 

She wasn’t going to waste one moment more.

* * *

“What’s this?”

“Achillea millefolium.”

“And this?”

“Magnolia magnifolia.”

“What about this one?”

“Let me see… cirsium heterophyllum.”

Sensing this long line of questioning wasn’t going to end any time soon she changed the subject. “Where’s Jamie?”

Fergus shrugged. “He said we’re going to hang stockings by the fireplace in the function room later. But first he had some things to do. Can I help you while I’m waiting?” He picked up her magnifying glass and held it up to his eye. ‘What’s this for?”

“That,” she reached over and guided his wrist down so the glass hovered above one of the many books she had lying open on the table, “is to read some of this text, tiny as it is.”

“That’s not very interesting.” Fergus wrinkled his nose and abandoned the tool in favour of pulling some vines laying nearby closer. “What are you going to do with this?”

“Well, currently, I am researching each of these plants. Specifically I’m interested in any traditional beliefs surrounding them and what practical use they might have, if any. It’s really quite fascinating.” Seeing the skepticism practically written across the boy’s youthful face she rose to the challenge. “Typically, people use evergreens to create Christmas wreaths and other decorations such as swags but some like to use wildflowers and herbs such as these here in this box and not just because they look or smell rather nice. They would choose plants based on their magical properties.”

“Magical?”

“Mmhmm. Ilex aquifolium, for example,” she picked up a piece of the Christmas holly, “can bring material gain, protection, luck and even help seek revenge. Using the branches in a swag placed on the front door could, for example, create a very strong ward.”

“What else?” 

“Let me see… 

“Myrica gale or bog myrtle, as it’s often called, can be used to keep mischievous fairies away. It’s said to be particularly effective at keeping them away from little children who are often susceptible to their charms. Once upon a time healers, midwives and sometimes women in need of money, would weave magic into wreaths and other decorations and quietly sell them to members of the community. A wreath to ward off evil or perhaps guide a loved one home, or something smaller that they could be hung inside the home for good health or success could fetch quite a bit of money. And it was said that if gifted with one, you should be very careful. That while a piece made with good intentions is stronger than any someone could make for themselves the same goes for those made will ill-intent.”

“Can we make one now?”

“Sure.” She picked up the box containing the few remaining flora she was yet to identify and tucked it away. Just in case. “We don’t have much equipment, however, so we’ll have to do the best we can with whatever we find in these drawers.”

Much to each their delight, Fergus’ natural inquisitiveness worked in their favour, leading to a collection of twine, wire coat hangers, tape and even some fast drying glue. Between the two of them they managed to, in her opinion, create two rather handsome swags and now half a wreath that Fergus claimed had the potential to bring about ‘heaps of money’ thanks to his inclusion of marjoram. 

“Do you believe in Santa?”

Claire looked over. Fergus was still working on the wreath, head bent in concentration. She couldn’t see his face but what she heard was a depth to his words that told her he wasn’t seeking childish assurances.

“Well,” Claire said slowly, knowing she had to tread carefully. “Someone once told me that many different cultures all over the world believe in all kinds of magic. I think it would be reasonable to assume that that includes Santa Claus. They do say he’s magic, after all.” 

Fergus didn’t say anything but she could tell he was thinking things over as he fiddled with the foliage in front of him. She turned things around. 

“What about you? Do you believe in Santa?”

A one sided shrug was all he offered her in return.

“When I was five my parents died and I went to live with my uncle,” she told him as she returned to the book she had been reading before Fergus had walked through the open door unannounced, though she did nothing more than stare at the pictures unseeing. “That Christmas I asked Santa to bring my Mum and Dad back. I wrote their names on a piece of paper and put it in the fire. It made sense to me that if Santa were to come down the chimney into our homes, a letter could travel upwards with the smoke to his. I remember waking up on Christmas morning hoping more than anything to find them in the living room.” She glanced over at Fergus and caught him doing the same. “They weren’t there.”

“Were you disappointed?”

“I was inconsolable. And there was nothing my uncle could do or say to make me feel better. The next year I refused to ask Santa for anything at all.”

“I wished for something once."

“You did?” A nod. "Were you disappointed too?" 

Another nod, somewhat jerkier this time. "But I should have known better than to ask. Madam Elise told us Santa didn't come to children who were naughty."

"Madam Elise?"

"She's in charge of the ‘Home for Boys’. I ran away from there. She was horrible. She was always yelling about this or that." Fergus shuddered theatrically.

"Have you thought about writing to Santa this year? Perhaps, just to see?"

"Is that what you did? Write him just to see?"

"Mmhmm."

Fergus got up on his knees and leaned forward on his elbows. "And what happened? What did you ask for?" 

"I asked him for a little doll to play with. One that I could pretend was my baby brother or sister, someone to keep me company at times when I was feeling alone. I thought that maybe if I asked for something simple, something small, there might be a better chance of it coming true. And on Christmas morning there at the foot of my bed was the most beautiful little doll. She had dark hair just like mine and was wrapped in this pink and purple blanket."

"And you think… you think that if I ask for something small… he might come visit me too?"

"I think it's very likely.”

There was a movement to her right and she looked over to find Jamie standing casually in the doorway. How long had he been standing there, she wondered. And if so, what did he think of Fergus’ admissions?

“I didnae mean to interrupt, Sassenach. I just came by lookin’ fer Fergus,” he dipped his head towards the boy in question. “I hope he wasnae bothering ye overmuch.”

“Oh, no. Not at all. In fact, he’s been helping me.” She lifted one of the swags carefully for them all to see. “While, I myself, struggle with making the most basic of things, Fergus, here, has quite the talent for weaving and decorating.” She looked at Fergus pointedly. “Quite the magic touch I would say.”

Fergus grinned and asked Jamie, “Can we hang this one on the door? It’s got sage tied in for good health.”

“Is that true?”

“Oui! So, can we? Please?”

Jamie smiled. “Let me find a hook.”

Ten minutes later all three of them stood together side by side as they studied the swag hanging just below Dr Beaton’s name plate on the door to what was currently Claire’s temporary office. 

“I think it looks wonderful,” she declared.

“Aye,” Jamie agreed. “Verrae festive, indeed.”

Fergus jumped out of formation and turned to look at his foster father with big wide eyes. “Can we go hang stockings now?” Without waiting for an answer he looked at Claire. “You’ll come too?”

They both looked at Jamie. 

“We need to stop by the storage room along the way.”

It didn’t take long for them to grab what they needed and make their way into the function room. Jamie set the box on the table and pulled off the lid. Inside were numerous knitted stockings in all kinds of colours and designs. Fergus didn’t hesitate and started rummaging inside. He pulled out a tan and green stocking with a red pick up truck carrying a Christmas tree in the centre. He handed it to Jamie and then dived back in. 

With both Fergus and Jamie putting up stockings Claire placed herself in charge of the box.

“Do you do this every year?” Claire handed another stocking to Jamie, this one red with white reindeer and snowflakes. “Hang stockings for each of the children?”

“And their younger siblings too,” he hung the stocking up and stared at it a moment. “I remember when my older brother Willie was first old enough to play I was sae jealous. Made a right fuss every time my Da brought us here and I had to sit on the sideline and just watch. But when Christmas time came and each of the players had a stocking hung up for them Willie gave his to me. A thank you, he said, for cheering him on at every practice. At every game. He did the same every year after that. Hung his stocking up for me. He wanted me to feel like one of the team, Da told me later. And I can still remember now, that feeling in my chest, running up to the mantle with the bigger kids to see what surprise was waiting for us.” 

Claire held out another one but Jamie seemed unaware and so she sat it down gently on the table, ready and waiting. Fergus, meanwhile, didn’t hesitate in grabbing another from the box.

“And that’s why you do it for all the little ones now? So they, too, feel like they're part of the team?”

Jamie nodded, the movement slow as if it too was caught among memories of old. “By the time my brother passed away I was old enough to play and had a stocking all to myself. But I never forgot what he did for me. And had I had a little brother - or sister - I would have done the same for them.“ Coming back to himself with a slight jerk of the head, he saw the stocking and added it to the mantle with gentle care. “When I was put in charge of cross-ice and, consequently, responsible for hanging the stockings, I decided to do what Willie had done for me all those years ago and make sure we included everyone in our team.”

As Jamie spoke little things around the function room stood out to Claire. Small and rather battered trophies here and there. Stacks of photo albums lying on shelves. A blanket box tucked away in the corner. “This place,” she said. “The Inverness Ice Arena. It’s not _just_ a hockey rink… is it?”

“It’s no’ just a hockey rink, Sassenach,” Jamie echoed. “For a lot of us it’s home.”

Fergus counted a total of twenty stockings hanging on the long mantle and Claire took a step back as Jamie helped him spread them out evenly. She looked over in time to see Laoghaire walking in, large professional camera in hand and a large smile on her face, headed towards them.

Jamie nodded to her in greeting. “Afternoon, Laoghaire.”

“Afternoon, Jamie.” A brief pause. “Fergus. Claire.”

“Hello, Laoghaire,” Claire smiled. “It’s lovely to see you. How are you?”

“Just fine, Claire. I thank ye fer askin’.”

Fergus, she noticed, looked as if he was going to ignore the woman completely but a discreet nudge from Jamie had him opening his mouth to say a rather half-hearted, “Hello.”

By then Laoghaire’s attention was already back on Jamie. “I saw ye won yesterday’s game. I kent ye would. I wish I couldae been there but I had other things tae be doin’ here,” she lifted her camera with a shrug of her shoulders, “For the Festival. That was a nice post game team photo on the Badger’s social, all the same.”

Laoghaire, Claire knew, had been placed in charge of the Festival’s social media page and the small number of photos had already gathered a lot of attention online largely due to the woman’s talent. It was no wonder they wanted her to keep on it rather than have her travelling on a bus for hours on end.

“Actually,” Laoghaire continued, “while ye’re here, I was thinkin’ to take a photo of you and Fergus hanging the stockings.”

Jamie turned to Fergus. “Fergus?”

The boy made a face and shook his head vigorously. “Vous devriez demander Claire.” [You should ask Claire.]

Jamie didn’t push the matter. Instead he did as Fergus suggested and asked, “Claire?” 

“Oh, I’m not-” “Are you sure-” Both Laoghaire and Claire began to speak at the same time but Jamie ignored them both.

“This is for the Festival social and not the team one, aye?”

“Aye,” Laoghaire nodded. “That’s correct.”

“Then it will be fine,” he waved a hand gently indicating for Claire to come closer. 

“Uh-” Laoghaire, Claire couldn't help but notice, seemed a bit put out by that and she could hardly blame her. She was well aware how hard the young woman had been working to gain followers and spread festive cheer and the last thing anyone ever wanted was to be told how to do something. Still, Laoghaire smiled and moved into position. “Sure.”

Claire and Jamie mucked about for a few seconds, trying to find a pose that seemed both natural and flattering.

“Ready?” Laoghaire lifted the camera into her line of sight and counted, “Three, two, one-”

“-CHEESE!” Fergus popped up from behind Laoghaire suddenly, two spare stockings ties around his head like a bandana, and both Jamie and Claire looked at each other and cracked up laughing. 

_Click._

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Claire apologised and, still laughing, tried to massage her face muscles into something less… well, maniacal. “Do you need to take it again?”

Laoghaire pulled her camera down and studied the digital screen. She shook her head. “No. That’ll be… perfect.”

Fergus tried to lean over and see the image for himself. Jamie called out to him and when no response came forthwith he tried again. 

“Fergus,” Jamie reached over and gave him a poke in the side. Fergus jumped around and raised a brow at his foster father, the look on his face screaming _‘what?’_. “It’s almost time fer training. Ye should go get changed.”

“Yes, Milord.” 

Fergus was already halfway across the room when Jamie called upon him once more. “And take this box wi’ ye. Ye can put it back in the storage room on yer way.”

A sigh. “Yes, Milord.”

“And I’d best be editing this and uploading it as soon as possible,” Laoghaire looked up from her camera to Jamie. “I’ll see ye later perhaps?”

“Aye, no doubt at all. Thank ye, Laoghaire.”

With one last smile she followed Fergus out the door and Claire realised: If Fergus had training to attend that meant Jamie did too. 

“I need to go and clean up the mess Fergus and I made earlier before anyone else sees. I’m not sure I’ll see you again before I leave but if not, I just want to say thank you for allowing me to help with such a precious task.” 

“Thank you for listening, Sassenach.” 

Just like he had done with Fergus, Jamie called out her name before she could step through the door. She turned back to look at him, one hand resting on the frame. 

“I ken it’s short notice but… I was wondering if ye would like to join me for lunch at the Tree Farm tomorrow?”

“More deliveries?” 

“Och, no,” he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “It’s, ah, my day off tomorrow and… I would verrae much enjoy the pleasure of yer company, is all.”

The pink blush creeping up his neck matched the colour on the tips of his ears, she noticed, and it pulled on something inside her, something that was telling her this was a little less playful and a little more serious than his last invitation. She felt her pulse quicken and she nodded her head gently. 

“I would enjoy yours too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16 and we finally have a real date! Can you believe? 
> 
> Have you ever been on a date during the Christmas season and, if so, what was involved? Did it play out just like a Hallmark movie?


	18. Pine Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 17

Claire stood there, still in her night clothes, just staring at the mantle. 

Sixteen little Christmas figurines were all lined up just as she had left them last night. She looked down at the figurine in her hand and then back at the mantle. 

_And today’s little pine tree made seventeen._

It was basic math and easy enough to understand even when one’s mind was clouded with the fog of a deep and restful sleep. Sixteen plus one equals seventeen. Seventeen. But no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t see numbers. Or even figurines. 

All she could see was…

_“Fraser," he paused as if waiting for something. A particular reaction from her perhaps? "But you can call me Jamie.”_

_The scoring player took off his helmet and looped the rink in celebration, a large grin on his face as he wiped his brow with his sleeve._

_Strong hands caught her before she could hit the ice, holding her in a makeshift embrace._

_Jamie stepped down the ladder and moved to stand back next to Claire and mimicked her stance, arms crossed and head tilted. “Do ye think we need more?”_

_Rather than terribly concussed, however, she found him simply watching her with a look on his face she couldn’t quite interpret._

_Boots laced and ready to go, Claire took Jamie’s waiting hand and climbed out of the truck._

_“Och, no,” he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “It’s, ah, my day off tomorrow and… I would verrae much enjoy the pleasure of yer company, is all.”_

...all she could see was Jamie. 

* * *

Munro Christmas Tree Farm was glorious. Norway spruces, Nordman firs, Fraser firs and Lodgepole pines spanning over hundreds of acres and the variety didn’t just apply to the type of trees but height and size as well. 

Jamie led the way along a well worn path and Claire reached out and brushed her hand over one of the branches as they walked past, curious as to how it felt on the palm of her hand. She couldn’t recall ever going to a tree farm, though she did try. They had always had real Christmas trees in the house, she knew, both when her parents were alive and when she was living with Uncle Lamb but it had never occurred to her where exactly they had come from and who might have been the one to cut them down.

Realising that she had fallen a step or two behind, she caught up with Jamie as they entered a large social area decorated with festive lights and oversized ornaments. Families, couples and even a small school group were congregating near a small food truck. A number of children, both big and small, were taking turns sledding and a wagon sat ready and waiting for anyone seeking a hay ride. 

“I didn’t realise tree farms were quite the event.”

“Munro’s is like no other, Sassenach. People come from all over to visit and, sometimes,” Jamie pointed to the food truck, “for the food rather than the trees.” They approached the truck but rather than walk up to the register Jamie took them around the side and knocked on the already open door. 

A short blue-eyed man with a beard and long curly hair tied back into a ponytail poked his head out. 

“Jamie!”

“Hugh,” Jamie grabbed the man’s hand and pulled him in for a hug, their natural height difference working in their favour. “Good tae see ye, man.”

“Good to see you, too. Finally got a day off, then?” The man’s words sounded rather thick and it was then she noticed the hearing aids he was wearing.

“Aye, and I’ve brought company wi’ me too,” Jamie stood aside to make more room for Claire to come forward. “I'd like to introduce ye to Claire. Claire, this is one of my good friends, Hugh Munro.”

Claire smiled. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Hugh looked back and forth between Jamie and Claire a couple of times and then grinned. “It’s very nice to meet _you_ , Claire.” He threw Jamie a significant look and then disappeared back into the truck. Only a few seconds later he returned with a large carry bag in hand. He handed it to Jamie. “That’s everything you asked for. Plus a little something else I’ve added in there. Considering you’ve ‘brought company’ and all.”

Claire looked away politely as they argued over money, Jamie wanting to pay extra and Hugh wanting him to pay nothing at all. Quickly enough to suggest resolving arguments was old practice for them, they settled on an amount.

“And don’t leave before saying your goodbyes, you hear?”

“Aye. I hear ye.” Jamie turned to Claire. “Ready?”

It was only mid morning and rather early for lunch but already things were going differently than expected. While she would have had no complaints about eating by the side of a food truck, she had imagined they would be dining at a café or another similar sit-down venue. A wait-and-see approach seemed to be the most appropriate thing to adopt at this point in time. She nodded. “Lead the way.” 

And it paid off only 5 minutes later when someone walked up to Jamie and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Jamie turned around, a smile on his face. “Yes?”

Rather than greet Jamie like his old friend had done just before or perhaps declare themselves an avid Badger’s fan as she expected, the man simply threw a thumb over his shoulder and asked, “Is this one yours?” 

Claire looked over and there was Fergus sitting amongst a pile of travel cases, a sheepish look on his otherwise bright face.

“Aye,” Jamie said. His lips formed a straight line and he indicated with the jerk of his finger for the boy in question to join them. “That one’s mine.”

“Said ‘e’s ‘ere on holiday and ‘e got separated from ‘is family. Needed a ride to the Tree Farm, ‘e said. That ye’d be waitin’ for ‘im ‘ere, ‘e said. Now I’m wondering how much o’ that was true...” The man squinted as he looked Jamie up and down. “Didnae look too worried ‘bout yer son being missing an’ all. Ye're sure ‘e’s yours, then?” He turned to Claire. “Cannae be too careful, ye ken.”

“Aye, I’m sure,” Jamie said as Fergus walked up to them and stood at Jamie’s side as if that was where he belonged at all times. _And perhaps,_ Claire thought, _he did._ Jamie got out his wallet. ”Let me pay ye fer the bus fare. It’s the least I could do fer ye taking care of him. I appreciate it, truly”

That seemed to appease, if not completely please, the man. With said fare paid for, along with a generous tip, the man returned to his bus and Jamie turned his attention on to Fergus. Claire fully expected the boy to shrink down, perhaps with an apologetic look on his face, but instead he surprised her by pulling himself up even taller, his back straight and a satisfied look on his face.

“I dropped you off at school this morning.”

“Oui.”

“I said ye were to go straight to the Arena when ye finished.”

“Oui.”

“Then how is it ye’re here right now?”

Fergus shrugged one shoulder but one look from Jamie had him opening his mouth. “The Tree Farm sounded like fun.” A raised eyebrow from Jamie said that answer didn’t cut it. “I didn’t want to be at school. I want to be with you. And Claire.”

Jamie sighed and turned to Claire. “I’m sae sorry. I need to make some phone calls. Would ye mind?” 

“It’s no problem,” she took the bag from him as he struggled to pull out his mobile phone one handed. “We’ll just wait here, won’t we Fergus?”

Two minutes later and Jamie was back.

“The school now kens yer with me. I called Murtagh and asked him to come and get ye,” Fergus pouted at Jamie’s words but his eyes lit up with excitement a moment later, “but he’s busy today. Which means-”

“I get to stay with you?”

“-ye will be staying with us. However, we _will_ be discussing consequences for yer actions when we get home.”

“Oui, Milord.” Fergus agreed seriously and did his best to look contrite but neither Jamie nor Claire were fooled. If anything the boy looked to be quite ecstatic with the situation. 

“Luckily I ordered more than enough food, eh?” Once again Jamie sighed. “Come on, then.”

Jamie took the bag back from Claire and they headed away from the crowd towards a sign that read ‘Nature Adventure Trail’. 

They walked straight past it. 

“Oh,” Claire said and when Jamie looked to her she pointed back at the sign. “Are we not…?”

“We dinnae need directions for where we’re going, Sassenach. I ken the way.”

Claire turned to Fergus. “Do you know where we’re going, then?”

Fergus shook his head. It was a mystery to both of them, then. 

They walked for close to twenty-five minutes, most of which was spent walking up various inclines. They slowed down as they reached a plateau sheltered from both wind and snow, and rows and rows of Christmas trees could be seen down below, the greenery all the more vibrant thanks to the snow that had fallen there recently. Jamie sat his bags down on the ground and pulled out a large tartan rug. He gave it a shake and placed it down in the sun. Fergus went ahead and settled himself down upon it while Jamie unpacked their goods from the food truck. Claire toed off her boots and joined them.

“Woah!” Fergus rummaged through the food. “Pasties. Charcuterie. What’s that? Salmon? Pâté. Cheese and crackers. Berry tarts…” He looked up at Jamie. “Why don’t you ever order food like this when _we_ eat out?”

“Because,“ Jamie took the white paper bag that he was yet to open out of hand and placed it back down, “I ken ye’ll eat anything that’s put in front of you.”

“Are you saying Claire won’t?” Jamie, she thought, looked just about ready to throttle Fergus when the boy spoke again. “Can I have some wine, too?”

“No,” Jamie pulled out a large jug of water and lumped it in front of him. “And if ye dinnae stop touching everything I might suddenly need ye to fetch some salt and pepper fer us, too.”

Fergus’ eyes went wide. “From where? All the way back at the food truck?”

“Aye.”

That had Fergus sitting up straight and behaving much more quietly though that didn’t last as long as Jamie probably would have liked. It was more than clear, over the course of their shared meal, that Jamie had put in an inordinate amount of effort into today’s lunch and that he was slightly embarrassed that Fergus would consistently do or say something to point that out with comments like ‘Since when do you have the day off?’ and ‘You never have a day off during the week.’ 

And, unlike Jamie, Claire found she was rather glad for Fergus’ presence. 

The conversation, of course, would have been different, a little more personal perhaps, but there was no time for awkward silences and certainly no time to waste on guessing or assuming meaning or intentions. 

Eventually only the little white paper bag remained and Claire pulled it towards her. “What’s this?”

“I dinnae ken.”

Claire opened it and found inside half a dozen glacé petit fours, each a different colour and design. She offered one to Fergus and then Jamie before pulling one for herself. It was amber coloured with a little dragonfly piped on top and very beautiful. “Do you think Hugh made these?”

“It wouldnae surprise me at all if he did, he has an incredible amount of talent.” Jamie smiled to himself. “And he’s a good friend.”

The walk back down was much more leisurely with Fergus foraging for small bits and pieces they might use to create more wreaths and swags back at the Arena and by the time they made it back onto one of well travelled paths they had quite the assortment.

“Milord! Look!” Fergus leaped in front and stood next to a large sign advertising a Christmas Tree Decorating Competition: _decorate a Christmas tree and upload a photo of your creation using #MunroChristmasTreeFarm for the chance to win a Deluxe Christmas Hamper!_ He bounced up and down on his toes. “Can we?”

“Ye’re supposed to be at school,” Jamie reminded him.

“I know, I know. But, we’re here now and… _please_?”

Jamie looked to Claire, inner conflict clouding his eyes even as he asked, “Would ye like to?”

“Decorating trees is not really my idea of ‘fun’…” The expression on Fergus’ face was just too much. “But, we’re here now so…”

“Yes!” 

Together they chose a large container filled to the brim with decorations from the nearby shed and got started. 

Garlands. Baubles. Bows. Ribbon. They added it all.

As they worked more and more people joined them in decorating their own trees and by the time Jamie lifted Fergus up so he could add a star to the very top the atmosphere was thick with joy. And Claire couldn’t stop smiling. 

Jamie pulled out his phone to snap a picture of the tree in all its glory. 

“Here, let me take a photo with you two in it,” Claire held out her hand and Jamie passed her his phone. She moved back, making sure to get both Jamie and the entire tree inside the frame.

“Let me take that for you, dear.” A woman dressed in a thick coat and wool beanie smiled at her. “You shouldn’t have to miss out.” She took the phone from Claire and waved her away towards the tree. “You’re almost completely out of frame, dear. Move in a bit closer. Bit more.” Jamie put an arm around Claire and drew her in close. She glanced up at him and then back at the camera. “That’s it. Smile! Oh, that’s perfect.”

Jamie took his phone back with thanks and looked at the image. He nodded happily and typed out something on his phone.

_Ping!_

Claire pulled out her own phone and clicked on the notification: _@redjamie tagged you in a post: The best dressed tree at #MunroChristmasTreeFarm all thanks to Fergus and @clairebeauchamp._

It was a great photo, she had to admit and before she had time to overthink it she put her phone back in her bag. Jamie’s real-time post, however, had brought attention to them and so Fergus and Claire spent the next hour wandering around, complimenting other participants on their decorating, while Jamie chatted with a number of ice hockey fans. 

The sun was setting when Hugh walked up to them a cup of hot cider in each hand and gave one to Jamie and Claire each. Despite that, it was Fergus whom he addressed. “I need your help.”

“You need my help? With that?”

Hugh put his arm around Fergus and steered him away. “I need someone to taste test some of my new creations. You can do that for me, yes?” 

“Um, yes!”

Jamie and Claire settled themselves down on one of the huge logs set up in front of the fire pit and by the time the sun was gone so too were the other patrons, leaving them alone with just their empty cups sitting on the ground between them. 

The silence surrounding them was light and peaceful but her mind was occupied with all that happened since arriving in Inverness. From the vintage calendar to sitting here with Jamie at Munro’s Christmas Tree Farm… and every little calendar figurine in between. She wanted to say something loud, let her thoughts dance on the wind outside of herself but she was hesitant to put herself out there again, to open herself up to judgement. But she had learned, if anything, from her many conversations with Frank, it was that it was best to know at the very beginning.

She took a deep fortifying breath and pulled the little tree out of her pocket and held it out in front of her, its colour changing shades with the flickering of the flames below.

“What’s that?” Jamie asked curiously. “ A wee-”

“Do you believe in magic?” She blurted and cringed internally. _Way to go, Beauchamp. Not only does he probably think you carry around toys all day, he’s going to think you’re incredibly rude too._

“Magic?” Jamie looked at her expectantly, no judgement visible on his face only an openness that encouraged her to continue.

“Christmas magic,” she specified. She fiddled with the little figurine as she contemplated what to say. “Mrs Graham... you know I’ve spent some time with her?” Jamie nodded and she continued. “When Frank and I first arrived in Inverness she gifted me with a vintage advent calendar. A beautiful, hand crafted piece, with twenty four individual little doors each holding the promise of a surprise.”

“Was she aware ye werenae interested in Christmas overmuch?” Jamie teased. She relaxed a little. 

“Am I that obvious?” 

“Just a wee bit, Sassenach. A wee bit.”

“I tried to argue with her, you know, but still she insisted on giving it to me anyway. And the very first morning there was a little candy cane waiting. On the second it was a little glass filled with eggnog. Just typical holiday items, you get the idea. At first I decided it was a holiday gimmick, that being unable to open any of the doors ahead of time was a fun inclusion to increase suspense and prevent small children from jumping ahead and ruining the surprise. But soon I started to suspect… well, it was almost like the calendar was predicting the future. Everyday the calendar would produce a little figurine and everyday something would happen involving the real life version. Today, for example, it produced this little tree. And here we are at a Christmas tree farm. Although... that’s probably not a very good example since we knew ahead of time we would be coming here.” Dammit. She was starting to regret opening her mouth at all. She scrunched up her face and willed the courage to glance at Jamie. “You think I’m raving mad, don’t you?”

“No,” Jamie said with a soft shake of his head. “No, I believe ye, Sassenach.”

“You do?” She couldn’t help but be a little sceptical. Her conversation with Frank had involved a hell of a lot more resistance, after all. And, in saying that, it had gone a hell of a lot smoother, too.

“I dinnae understand it a bit, not yet,” he admitted with a shrug. “But I trust you. I trust your word. So... whatever you tell me... I will believe ye.” He plucked the little tree out of her hand and studied it closely. “Tell me more about this, uh... this calendar.” 

And she did. She told him of the boots, the bonbon and the stocking. She even told him of the tickets, the horse and the scarf. She did, however, choose to omit her discussion with Frank and his own reaction to her suggesting the calendar might be magical. There was no need, she decided. Her time in Inverness was already complicated enough without her ex-boyfriend being a part of her future, being a part of... whatever this was between her and Jamie. 

All the while Jamie listened. He didn't understand it all, she could tell, but he listened and as she said all her thoughts out loud the link she could see between the calendar and Jamie became all the more clearer. She knew Jamie couldn't see what she did but his response to her words let her know she needn't worry. The conversation naturally moved on to other topics and in what seemed like the blink of an eye the fire was down to its last coals and Fergus was walking up the path towards them. Claire gathered their cups as Jamie dealt with the firepit and with one last thanks to Hugh and his crew, the three of them were away on their way to Inverness. 

A little while later Jamie slowly pulled up in front of Mrs Baird’s B&B, the front light still on waiting for her return. 

“I’ll walk you to the door.” Jamie said with a smile and then turned to Fergus. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Goodnight, Claire,” Fergus responded tiredly before reverting back to his mother tongue. “Vous serez à l’Aréna demain?” [You will be the Arena tomorrow?”]

Claire smiled at him and pulled on the door handle. “I will. Goodnight Fergus.”

Jamie joined her outside and together they walked up the few metres to the front door.

“I’m sae sorry, Sassenach. About today.” He shook his head dejectedly and opened his mouth only to sigh. 

“It’s not what you planned, I know. But Jamie,” she put a hand on his arm and squeezed gently, “I know that Fergus is an important part of your life. Let me tell you now… I had a wonderful time today. With you and Fergus both.”

Jamie smiled at her and she couldn’t stop staring at him. His dark blue eyes. They seemed even darker tonight somehow. And his lips. His lips... She looked back up to his eyes and time stopped. The space between them was dissipating and- 

Suddenly the entire experience was too much. 

She pulled her hand away, forcefully severing the connection between them, and as she did their surroundings came back into focus. She looked over to the truck. Fergus, it seemed, was leaning against the closed window drawing patterns in the condensation building around his mouth. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms and looked back at Jamie.

“I suppose I should be saying goodnight, Sassenach.”

Contrary to her actions she couldn’t bring herself to say goodnight first. “I suppose I should be going inside.”

They looked at each a moment longer. Then Jamie held out his hand and she placed hers in his. He lifted it to his mouth and kissed it gently then let it go. 

“Goodnight, Claire.”

She cradled her hand to her chest, the warmth of his lips lingering on her skin. She licked her lips. “Goodnight, Jamie.”

Reluctantly they parted ways and she stepped inside. Before closing the door behind her, however, she paused. She turned and looked back only to see Jamie through the car window softly cuff Fergus around the ear. She closed the door softly and in the darkness of the empty reception room she wondered...

_What would it have felt like to have his lips touch hers instead?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’ll no doubt recognize some of the lines in this chapter from 1x11 The Devil’s Mark and I take no credit for them. They just fit so perfectly, I had to include them! Are you disappointed by their almost-kiss? I wouldn’t blame you if you were.


	19. Yule Log

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 18

Claire awoke early the next day, a buzzing under her skin that had her up and out of bed to check the vintage calendar first thing. _Almost like a small child running to the tree on Christmas morning._ It would have been embarrassing, perhaps, but there was no one to witness the manifestation of her newfound happiness and she so didn’t even hesitate to look behind door number eighteen.

A miniature yule log sat there, pieces of red and green holly sitting on top. She picked it up and no matter how hard she studied it she couldn’t tell if it was the ‘real’ or the ‘cake’ version. Oddly enough she found she didn’t care all that much. 

Today was bound to be a good day either way.

* * *

Despite her early start, Claire didn’t leave the B&B until early afternoon when it was time to attend another Festival Committee meeting at the Arena. She had kept herself busy perusing journal articles online and responding to emails, many of which were from friends and colleagues she had left behind in the Army. The content of many of their emails were obviously limited by confidentiality and they had her thinking of all that was missing out since having left her post and by the time she took a seat next to Jamie in the now familiar function room she was eager for the distraction.

Luck, it seemed, was on her side.

The itemised agenda was a long one, certainly longer than any other Claire had yet to experience during her time on the Committee. By the time they had received a social media update, tallied the online donations, gone through the checklist for tomorrow’s Showcase, run through the list of potential sponsors who had confirmed they would be in attendance (and possibly accompanied by some assessors), and discussed both the Christmas Party and today’s Live Q&A the rest of the afternoon had well and truly passed.

They were on target to meet all their self imposed deadlines and everyone, much to Claire’s delight, stayed a little longer to engage in general chit chat, the atmosphere more than merry.

“Milady!” Claire felt a tug on her sleeve and turned to find Fergus flushed with excitement and his school uniform in disarray. “There is something you must see! Rapidement!” [Quickly!]

Claire turned to Jamie as she was being dragged away and mouthed “Milady?”

Jamie, who looked as surprised as she felt, just shook his head. They turned a corner and Jamie fell out of sight. She turned back to Fergus. 

“What is it? Where are we going?”

“Here,” Fergus slowed down somewhat and, still holding on tight, guided her through the doorway on the right. “Look what Milord bought. Proper wire. And clippers!” He let her go to hold them up, one in each hand. “Now we can make some proper wreaths with all that we collected yesterday. Swags too. We won’t have to worry anymore about them falling apart!”

Claire took the wire from Fergus and inspected it. “This is fantastic.” She looked at Fergus and raised an eyebrow. “Shall we get started?”

The first wreath they made was done mostly through trial and error but it didn’t take them very long at all to figure out how to pull it all together. Fergus held it up for Claire to see.

“I think that’s the best one yet. Where do you think we should hang it?”

“Ummm…” Fergus tilted his head to the side. “The kitchen?”

“Alright. Let’s go.”

They walked into the kitchen only to find something was wrong. Very wrong. The facility was filled with people, Mrs Fitz. at the centre shaking her head, her round cheeks pink with frustration. 

“Look at what it's done to the sponge I was baking fer the Bûche de Noël. All dry and rubbery. Ye willnae be able to bake cookies fer the social… media…” she waved a hand around as she looked for the right word, “ _thing_ ye’er doing while the ovens are fussin’ like this.”

Jamie rubbed a hand over his eyes. “What are we gonnae do?”

“Now, now. Dinnae fash. It willnae take long tae fix. Ye’ll only need tae stall them for a little while.”

“Perhaps you could take them on a tour of the Arena?” Claire suggested unsurely. Although she had been the one to suggest it initially, she would be the first to admit she didn’t really know much about _hosting_ a Live Q&A on social media. What if their viewers really did want to see them baking?

Laoghaire shook her head and Willie agreed. “We did one not that long ago on the team account. I’m afraid that might not keep their interest.”

“Ah,” Claire lifted up the wreath still in her hand, “but have they ever seen the Arena decorated for Christmas?”

That seemed to do it. There was a mad dash to tidy each of the rooms and by the time the men had cleaned up the last of the team’s change room, Laoghaire had the camera set up and ready to go. 

Both Claire and Fergus left them to it, more than happy to return to their wreath making station in Dr Beaton’s office. Still, Claire tuned into the live video and balanced her phone against a stack of books so she could follow along as they worked. 

There were, of course, the inevitable ice hockey related questions ranging from ‘Do you have any advice for someone who is just starting out?’ to ‘Favourite moment of your career so far?’ as they toured the Arena but it was some of the more personal questions that had Claire paying attention. 

“Do you have any team Christmas traditions?” Willie read out loud. “Weel I think that’s my queue to hand the camera over to someone who has been on the team longer than myself. Jamie?”

Jamie’s smiling face came on screen. “We- The Badgers, I mean tae say, have a long standing tradition where we all sit down for a dinner, hosted by the MacKenzies, just for the players and their partners. It’s a chance fer us all to relax and have a bit o’ fun and, I guess, to bring us closer as a team. We’ve had some new players, including Willie, join the team this year and I can say I’m really lookin’ forward to spending some time with them outside of the game. Getting to know them a little better. ” 

Jamie continued to smile and his eyes moved right to left as he read through some of the comments. 

“Do you have any pets? Do they also get a present on Christmas day?” Jamie read aloud and then shook his head. “Not II, but I ken someone who does. Hey, Ronnie!” The camera switched the other way and there was Ronald Buchanan sitting on the bench inspecting his skates. “Ronnie,” Jamie said again and this time the man looked up. “Tell everyone about yon Westie.”

“Ye’re recordin’?” Ronald asked, eyebrows raised. “Live?”

“Aye.”

“Halò, then,” Ronald gave a little wave. “Weel, I’ve a West Highland White Terrier as the Captain has said. Her name is Maggie and - hang on a sec,” the man pulled out his own phone and turned it to face the camera. “This is her. She's a bit older now so she doesnae mind being left at home alone during the day.”

“And do ye give wee Maggie a present on Christmas Day?”

“Do I give her a present on Christmas Day?” Ronnie laughed. “Nae. But…” his cheeks turned an interesting shade pink, “she does get a special Christmas dinner along wi’ the rest of us. Cannae be left out now, can she?”

“Cannae be left out!” Someone else in the background laughed and Ronnie threw a roll of tape out of frame. 

Jamie switched the camera back to forward facing.

“Alright. What else have we got?”

For a bit of fun Claire picked up her phone and added a question of her own to the comments that were rolling in. She knew the moment he read it, the quirk in his smile giving it away.

“We all know you’re great at ice hockey… what are you really bad at?” Jamie read out loud and laughed. “Oh... there are plenty of things I’m terrible at. Let me think. Planning a romantic date, fer one.” Another laugh. “But if I were to pick one thing in particular I would have to say singing. I am _nae_ good at singing.”

“Aye,” Rupert stole the camera away. “I can attest tae that. He sounds like a cat wailin’ outside in the rain. Here, it’s my turn tae answer one…” 

Claire only half listened as Rupert spoke of his childhood idol as she returned to the foliage in front of her. It wasn’t until she thought she heard her name that she tuned back in.

On camera was a close of up of one of the swags she and Fergus had made previously.

“...there’s more hanging up all over the Arena. Here. Let me show you…”

Claire looked down at the comments.

_OMG I wish I could make something like that._

_Wow! Wreaths too??_

_You should consider selling some as part of your fundraiser._

_They remind me of the ones my grandmother used to hang on her front door._

_I agree. I would pay good money for something so beautiful and I know a lot of other people who would too._

_What are those smaller green leaves on the lower half of that wreath? Does anyone know?_

“Fergus,” Claire held out her phone. “Look at these comments. People are loving the wreaths and the swags.”

“Well, of course,” Fergus said as though this was hardly news. “They are magnifique.” [magnificent.]

Claire just shook her head at him. _What more could she say?_

At that moment Jamie popped his head through the open doorway. 

“Claire. I’ve just received word the ovens still arenae ready and we’re going to have to give up on the cookies. What do ye think about giving a demonstration on how to make one of yon wreaths? We’ve had people askin’.”

“Of course,” Claire looked at what was left on the table. “We’ve enough left to make a wreath and a swag, if not two. But, Jamie, I don’t think any of your viewers will want to see _me_ make anything. Fergus, at least, plays here.”

“Oui. I can show them, Milord. It is so easy.”

Jamie tapped a thumb on his bottom lip as he thought things over. “I’m no’ sure I’m comfortable wi’ you being recorded… ye ken that.”

“What if Fergus shows _you_ how to make one?” Claire suggested. “We could move everything into the function room. There’s more room and better lighting. The camera can be focused on you the entire time. Fergus doesn’t even have to be in the frame.”

“And if anyone has questions, Claire can answer them,” Fergus added.

Jamie nodded slowly, his brow relaxing as a look of relief spread across his face. “Let’s do it.”

Quickly they packed up the remaining material and equipment and carried it into the function room. They had just finished arranging everything including themselves when Willie and Laoghaire came in to make the handover. Laoghaire set up the phone on a stand as Jamie explained their change of plans to whoever was watching on the other end.

“Now, ye need tae understand I’ve never made one of these before and ye’re no’ likely to see me create something like those we have hanging around the Arena but… Fergus, here, informs me they are ‘so easy’ to create and I trust him. And here to answer all of yer questions is another member of the Festival Committee ye’ve yet to meet,” Jamie gestured for Claire to come over and she moved into frame. 

“Hello everyone. My name’s Claire. As Jamie said I’m happy to answer any questions you might have so go ahead and write them in the comment section and we’ll get started.”

Some of the tougher questions that came through had Fergus running to get Claire’s books but most were, naturally, ice-hockey related and Claire read those aloud for Jamie to answer as he worked. 

Somewhere between ‘Do you have a pre-game routine?’ and ‘How many hours a week do you train?’ Fergus started giggling.

Eventually it got to be too much for Jamie.

“What’s sae funny?” 

“Hold up your wreath, Milord. So everyone can see.”

Jamie did as he was told and it was Claire’s turn to snort. While it wasn’t… _bad_ , per se, it was just a little… misshapen. _Unique._

“What?” Jamie held it up higher so that he too could see it and turned it this way and that. “I did exactly what ye said tae do.”

More than a few pieces fell off and Fergus burst into laughter. Jamie smiled and winked at the camera then caught Claire’s eye. She thought he was going to say something but Rupert wrapped a heavy arm around his shoulders, stopping him short.

“What’s going on ‘ere?” Rupert caught sight of Jamie’s wreath and burst out laughing, the hearty sound filling the room. 

More comments, Claire noticed, were coming through as the men bantered.

_I think it looks great. Better than I could make that’s for sure!_

_Awww it’s not THAT bad._

_I’d like to see Rupert MacKenzie make one!_

_I’m laughing so hard I’m crying rn_

_Maybe you should stick to making swags lol_

“Shove over,” Rupert ordered and pulled up own chair.

Jamie came to stand by Claire as together Rupert and Fergus worked to fix Jamie’s wreath.

“Guess that’s something else to add to the list of things I’m bad at, Sassenach.”

Claire scoffed and gave him a knowing look. “For every one thing you’re ‘bad at’, Jamie, you're good at another two. In this case, making Fergus laugh and entertaining the crowd.”

Jamie didn’t deny it. “Thank you, fer helping, Claire. Not just wi’ the video but making all these decorations.” He looked at her a moment and she pulled on her collar, wondering if anyone else thought it was a bit hot in here. “The Arena’s never looked…or felt, sae homely.”

Claire felt the corners of her lips curl upwards and she glanced over at Rupert and Fergus to give herself a few seconds. She turned back to Jamie. 

“You’re so welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: A Yule Log Cake, is also known as a Bûche de Noël.
> 
> Minor crisis avoided. Phew! Claire, Jamie and the rest of the Committee are all ready for the potential sponsors to arrive tomorrow. Are you feeling positive about the future of the Inverness Ice Arena or more inclined to wait and see what happens?


	20. Nutcracker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 19

The colourful nutcracker, standing tall and bold in Claire’s hand, was… more than a little creepy. 

Nutcrackers, she remembered, had never been her favourite. As a small child she had often avoided the decoration no matter the size. Big or small, it didn’t matter. She studied this one a little closer. It was the eyes, she thought, that put her on edge more than anything. This theory rang true when even after she placed it on the mantle next to the others and moved away she could still feel its eyes on her. 

She glanced back and not a second later marched right back up to the mantle and laid the figurine down flat. _There,_ she nodded with satisfaction. _Problem solved._

* * *

Claire joined the group of people gathered in the function room. Questions regarding what times sponsors were due to arrive and if there was anything else that needed to be done between now and then were circulating amongst them.

“I’ve the platters ready and waiting fer the meeting afterwards.”

“Seats have been reserved.”

“And Willie’s already stationed by the entry way should anyone arrive early.”

“Laoghaire, ye’ll be taking photos throughout the day, I assume?”

“Aye. The camera’s fully charged and ready to go.”

One of the children, Rabbie, if Claire remembered correctly, ran over to where Jamie was standing near the fireplace and whispered something in his ear. The man nodded and then looked at the rest of them.

“Colum summons me. I must go.” 

“Aye,” Laoghaire nodded in understanding. “Ye canna keep a MacKenzie waiting.”

“Well, then…” Mrs Graham put down her paper and pen. “I think we’ve done everything we needed to. And with time to spare, no less!” 

While the rest of the group dispersed quite quickly, Claire took her time walking down the hall towards the staff entrance to the rink and it wasn’t long before Jamie returned with Ned in tow, both of them noticeably glum.

“Is everything alright?”

“Dougal’s just received word that the potential sponsors who were scheduled to attend today's showcase have cancelled.” Jamie shook his head sadly. “They’re no’ coming.”

“All of them? Why?” Claire asked, baffled.

Jamie opened his mouth but closed it again straight away.

“What is it?” She looked to Ned and then back at Jamie. “What don’t you want to tell me?”

“Weel…” Jamie glanced at Ned who nodded his assent. “There’s been some... backlash. On social media.”

“Backlash?”

Jamie pulled out his phone and unlocked the screen. A moment later he handed it to her. 

“What am I looking at? The video from last night?”

Jamie nodded and she looked more closely. There were hundreds of comments beneath the video and, while a lot of them were positive, those gaining the most attention were not.

_I thought this was a family-friendly ice arena?_

_They’re teaching the younger players witchcraft? I am shocked this has been allowed to happen._

_This is exactly why I won’t let my children play at away games. You never know what they might be exposed to._

_I’m tempted to call Father Bain and organise for him to visit._

_I didn’t realise the Badgers were so insecure about their ability to win a match they had resorted to witchcraft of all things._

_Has anyone been there recently? Is what people are saying true?_

_Witchcraft? Shame on all of you. I’ll be writing a letter and encouraging all my friends to do the same. Does anyone know their email address?_

“I’m not quite sure I understand. There weren’t any complaints last night when we were live. If there had been, we could have addressed it straight away.” Claire handed Jamie his phone back. “What changed?”

“We’re no’ sure. But at this point it doesnae matter. The damage has been done.”

“A few comments couldn’t hurt the Arena too much, could they? I mean, they’re not even true.”

“No,” Ned said as he handed over his tablet. “But this could. And, in fact, it has.”

Claire looked down to find an article on what looked to be a professional sports blog titled ‘ **_Christmas at Inverness Ice Arena: Whimsical or Witchcraft?_ **’' 

She skimmed the article quickly. 

_...a virtual tour of Inverness Ice Arena..._

_...the internet is abuzz with claims…_

_...diminishing reputation of an Arena already in trouble..._

_…representatives from the Arena are yet to provide a comment..._

“Surely if we just explained…”

“I’m afraid not, my dear.” Ned sighed. “The businesses we had lined up are all very conservative and, while we could have possibly talked them around regarding this so-called witchcraft, social media presence is everything these days. They aren't going to want to associate themselves with anything even remotely controversial. True or false, as it may be.”

Her grip on Ned’s tablet tightened as she felt her stomach sinking. “I… I’m so sorry this has happened-”

“Ye’re not tae blame, Sassenach. I’m the one who conducted the live tour.”

“And I’m the one who suggested you do it,” Claire countered. 

Ned shook his head and adjusted the glasses sitting on his nose. “Jamie’s right, Claire. Despite what that article states, there’s been not one complaint from anyone here today nor overnight. This is something that has come from afar. And,” Ned sighed tiredly, “this is a battle we have been fighting long before ye joined us here at the Arena and reputation is not the only factor we’ve had to contend with. In fact, I have reason to believe there may be something else afoot, as it were.” Claire wanted to ask Ned what exactly he meant by that but she didn’t get the chance. “If you would both please excuse me, I have some phone calls to make.”

Claire handed the tablet back, “Of course.”

Jamie looked at his watch. “And I need to get down on the ice. We’re starting in a minute.” He put a hand on Claire’s arm. “There’s nae anything we can do about this right now. We’ll talk about it after the Showcase, aye?”

Claire nodded her head automatically, her eyes following Jamie as he jogged down the stairs to the rink. Even at this distance she could sense the excitement amongst the players down below and the crowd in the stands represented everything that she knew to be important to the people of Inverness. 

Community. 

Strength.

And, of course, ice hockey.

She was absolutely devastated. Something was tightening in her chest and she found she couldn’t stay, lest the feeling crush her completely. 

Finding solace in the privacy of Dr Beaton’s office, she pulled up the article on her phone and read it thoroughly. 

One line in particular caught her eye.

_...An anonymous source, close to both the Arena and the ice-hockey team, stated this was just ‘the tip of the iceberg’, that “there is something much more dangerous taking place than anyone else is aware”. This may explain, we suspect, the reported calls for an investigation into the making and selling of so-called ‘ill-wishes’..._

Claire couldn’t believe what she was reading… a source close to the Arena and to the team? Who-

A shadow crossed the doorway and Claire looked up to find Laoghaire standing there, one hand on her hip and a smirk on her face.

“You?” 

Laoghaire didn’t say anything but her smirk deepened and there was no doubt at all about who was behind this. 

Claire lost her temper. 

“How could you do this? Don’t you care about the Arena?” She threw out an arm and pointed in the direction of the rink. “About the _people_ out there?”

“I care about them more than ye could possibly imagine.”

“Then I don’t understand,” Claire dropped her arm to her side and stared with wide eyes at the woman in front of her. “Why would you do this?”

“I did it because a closed Arena is better than one in the hands of a Sassenach witch,” Laoghaire spat, her composure crumbling at the end. 

_She couldn’t be serious._ “A witch?” 

“Aye,” Laoghaire clenched her fists and stepped further into the room. “I ken ye're a witch. I’ve seen ye spreading yer poison, seen it sinking into the minds of all those ye touch. Ye might have managed to blind Jamie and young Fergus with yer spells and yer wee herbs but ye cannae fool me.”

 _Oh, now I see._ Claire looked to the ceiling and shook her head slightly. She could hardly believe this was happening. That her presence, alone, could have caused so much damage. She looked back down at Laoghaire and laughed, the sound dark and sour to her own ears. “This isn’t about the Arena. Or even about the community. This is about _Jamie_ \- or more specifically, how much time he and I have been spending together. You’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” Laoghaire scoffed. “Of someone who needs witchcraft to hold a man’s interest? Nae. I could never be jealous of you. But I will do _anything_ to keep my community safe. Especially,” she pointed a finger at Claire, “from the things they cannae see.”

Claire bit her lip to stop herself from blurting the first thing that came to mind. With well-practiced control she packed up her phone, her books and the small box containing the last of the flora she and Jamie had collected from Gàrradh Geamhradh. She swept a hand across the desk and made a point of straightening the pen container, to be sure no trace of her supposed ‘witchcraft’ remained in the good doctor’s office. 

Satisfied enough with her efforts, she picked up her things and walked across the room and it was with some satisfaction she witnessed Laoghaire taking half a step back and to the side. She stopped when she was directly in front of the woman. 

“There are a lot of things I would like to say to you, Laoghaire.” _There are a lot of things I would like to do too, like slapping the look off your face for one._ She took a breath and continued, her voice steady. “But I will say only this so do pay attention. My leaving is a choice that _I_ am making. And I am doing so _not for_ _you_. Not for _the MacKenzies_ or even for _the corporations_ needed to keep this Arena alive. I am doing this for the children. For the families out there. _They_ are the people worth making sacrifices for.” 

At that, Claire walked away, her head held high and her footsteps echoing down the empty hall as she went. She paused at the door to the rink. The Showcase was now in full swing and the sight brought a sad smile to her lips. While she might not have specifically been the one to lose them their best chance at sponsorship, her presence had certainly been a catalyst and she knew, if they were to have any chance at all of securing sponsorship by Hogmanay, she couldn’t be here.

And so, it was with confidence that she turned and walked out the front door and into the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all have had - or are having - a wonderful Christmas. Just in case you’ve not had enough drama in your life these holidays, I thought I would give you some more ;) 
> 
> Let me know what you think of this chapter - and what it might mean for both JC and the Arena - in the comments below!


	21. Snowflake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 20

Claire sat curled up on the window seat staring at the snow falling outside, a mug that had long turned cool cradled in her hands. The snow was falling heavily and, unlike the other days she had spent at the B&B, the streets of Inverness were completely empty. 

For what must have been the twentieth time that day she glanced over at her phone.

It was still sitting on the seat of her favourite armchair where she had dumped it last night when it had finally gone flat after spending what was an embarrassing amount of time scrolling through the comments on the Festival’s social media page. The Badgers, too, had suffered some comments here and there, she noticed, but most of them were confined to the Live Q&A posting. It was a good thing, she had told herself, that the drama hadn’t gained more traction and spread to individual accounts. 

Should she bother charging it, she wondered. She turned back to the window and pulled the knitted woollen blanket a little tighter around her shoulders. The answer was no. It was the only way to keep herself from spending even more time dwelling on what had happened, she knew.

Not that that had stopped her so far.

She had sat down at the table earlier that morning with her books spread out in front of her but one after the other she had pushed them aside. _Practical Botany. Ethnobotany: Local Knowledge and Traditions. Plants, People and Culture: Science of Ethnobotany._ It didn’t matter if it was one she had borrowed from the Library or downloaded to read online, all they did was remind her of how something she was so passionate about had been turned into something ugly. Something that had _hurt_ people. 

She hadn’t expected that. 

She hadn’t expected a lot of things if she were being completely honest with herself. Saying goodbye to Frank for the very last time. Getting to know the people of Inverness and the outlying areas. Finding delight in the game of ice hockey. Walking through a magical winter garden with someone she... Well. She _definitely_ hadn’t expected her developing feelings for someone she had only just met.

She sighed and rubbed at her forehead with one hand, wishing the tension she felt there would dissipate. 

She knew that walking away had been the right thing to do. It didn’t matter how she looked at the situation, it _was_ the right thing to do. 

Then why did she have to keep reminding herself of that? And, more importantly, why did it _hurt_ so much?

Her throat tightened and she bit her lip as she tried to get a hold of herself. There was no point dwelling on things that had already come to pass and so, purposefully, she turned her thoughts to something else. Literally _anything_ else would do at this point. She looked around the room and her eyes settled on her laptop sitting on the table. She could check her emails, perhaps send off some of her own... She might even be able to watch the Badgers game live depending on the time. They were scheduled to play, she knew, but as tempting as that was - and it really was tempting - she shifted herself over to the couch and exchanged her cup for the remote sitting on the coffee table.

She turned on the television and _Cross Country Christmas_ came on screen. Claire screwed up her nose. She brought up the digital guide and scrolled down the list. _The Holiday. Operation Christmas. Christmas in the Highlands._ She switched off the television and threw the remote back on the table. 

She laid her head against the back of the couch and closed her eyes. Not liking the image her mind conjured, she opened them again straight away. JHRC. Now she really was getting desperate.

A bath. That was what she needed. A nice relaxing bath and then a very, _very_ long nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Christmas in the Highlands (2019) is one of the WORST movies I have ever seen and I have watched a LOT of made-for-television movies. Have you watched it? What did you think?
> 
> I think this is the shortest chapter yet but this is not a day we (nor Claire) wish to linger on any longer than necessary. The good news is Jamie should be back tomorrow… Can you guess what tomorrow’s figurine is going to be (and what it might lead to)?


	22. Three Wise Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 21

“Just a minute!”

Claire stumbled, reaching out for her dressing gown in the dark. Her knee hit the corner of something and she swore out loud. _JHRC, that hurt._ “Just a minute!”

Finally she had both arms in her gown and she tied it closed as she made her way to the door, the knocking growing even more insistent.

“Coming!”

Belatedly she wondered what her hair was doing and patted it down as she opened the door cautiously with her other hand. She blinked slowly. 

“Mrs Fitz.?”

“Don’t just stand there, dear. Move aside, now.”

Claire did as she was told and made room for the woman to come inside her apartment. She regretted it though, when she looked around and started shaking her head.

“Oh, dear. This won’t do. This won’t do at all.” Mrs Fitz clapped her hands. “Come along! Into the bathroom with ye! I’ll go have a look-see in yer closet.”

Claire didn’t even have time to protest. Before she knew it she was washed, dressed and sitting down to a bowl of hot broth by the fire. She wasn’t even half way through, however, when it was being taken out of her hands, her spoon along with it.

“Come along! Up with ye!” Mrs Fitz. clicked her tongue. “You slept the whole day. 'Tis near 5:00 already and we’ve still so much to do. Where’s yer bag?”

Claire looked out the window, the curtains having been pulled open at some point in time. It was still dark but she thought it best not to point that out right now. 

Especially since she had much more pressing concerns.

“Mrs Fitz.,” she started rather tentatively. “I can’t be going with you to the Arena. After everything that’s happened-”

“Never you mind that, dear,” Mrs Fitz. interrupted as she rummaged through the things Claire had left in a pile by the door. “Never you mind. We’re not going to the Arena, anyhow.”

“We’re not?” Claire accepted her purse when Mrs Fitz. handed it out to her and stood to add a couple of more things to it before following the woman out the door. “Then where are we going?”

* * *

“Is that…” Claire bobbed her head down and squinted through the car windscreen. “Castle Leoch?”

“Aye,” Mrs Fitz. nodded. “It was once a verrae stately home for the MacKenzies. Have you ever walked through it? Och, I would have loved to have seen it in its prime. Once upon a time we would have all been living there together, ye ken, working for Himself...”

Mrs Fitz. continued on and Claire tuned her out somewhat, thinking back on all that had happened since that first knock on her door this morning. While she hadn’t thought Mrs Fitz. would lie to her, not directly anyway, she had only started to relax when they had crossed the town border and headed out north-west. The drive had not been as relaxing as the one she had taken with Jamie however, with the older woman’s driving skills leaving her somewhat queasy, and she now found herself rather eager to reach their destination, if only to get out the little Fiat 500.

Claire held on to the seatbelt strapped across her chest tightly as they turned off the main road and wound themselves along another, this time uphill. They were nearing the top when Claire decided to interrupt the woman’s monologue.

“Are we-,” she swallowed thickly and tried again. “Are we close by any chance?”

“Oh, aye. Look here,” Mrs Fitz. pointed out the left side of the windscreen. “Do you see it?”

They turned another corner and there was no doubt at all that she could see what the woman had pointed out to her. The manor was simply enormous. It was rather new, she thought, compared to some of the more famous manor houses located throughout the United Kingdom but the corbelled corner turret and crow-stepped gables told her it was inspired by the Scottish Baronial of old.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Mrs Fitz led her inside through a side door straight into what was a modern - and rather impressive - kitchen. Rather than tour the house like Claire would have liked, though, Mrs Fitz. set her to work straight away. It didn’t take long to iron and fold the basket full of cloth napkins, give her opinion on the menu for the upcoming team dinner and check the use-by dates on everything in the spice rack and it was more than obvious Mrs Fitz. was assigning her tasks to keep her busy more than anything else. Deciding she would insist on being useful, Claire picked up the to-do list sitting on the kitchen table.

Half of it had already been crossed off but the half still remaining shocked her.

“You plan on doing all of these?" She blinked. "When do you get time?” 

“Och, here and there,” Mrs Fitz. put down her stirring spoon and turned around. “Ye dinnae think I spend all my time in the kitchen at the Arena, do you?”

Now Claire thought about it, more than once she had been at the Arena when Mrs Fitz had not. She shook her head and Mrs Fitz. smiled knowingly.

“It is my pleasure serving people at the Arena but it’s important to look after oneself, also,” Mrs Fitz said carefully and Claire felt the woman's eyes on her but she looked back down at he list in front of her rather than meet them. “We cannae look after others if we dinnae take care of ourselves first, they say. Tis true," Mrs Fitz. turned back to the stove. "And that’s what I do here. Make sure everyone takes some time fer themselves. Oftentimes it doesnae take much. Some peace and quiet, I find, often does the trick.”

“Is that why you brought me here today? For some peace and quiet?”

"Och, no. I ken ye have that in yer wee apartment at Mrs. Baird's. I simply thought ye might do well with a bit o' fresh country air. Plus... I rather like the company."

Claire took it upon herself to tackle some of the more simple chores on the list after that and she was thankful when Mrs Fitz. didn't put up a fuss. They spent the rest of the morning mostly in silence, only the occasional hum coming from Mrs Fitz. every now and again.

It was close to lunch time that Murtagh, Rupert and Angus joined them. They each served themselves an ale from a tapped barrel and before they could sit down Mrs Fitz. was shooing them right back out.

“Oh, no, no, no. Out ye go! I cannae work with all of ye in here. If ye wish for something tae eat ye’ll have to go sit out in the dining room an' wait,” Mrs Fitz. turned to Claire and pulled the cloth out of her hand. “You too, lass. Grab yerself a drink and off ye go. I willnae be long.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Claire too grabbed a mug and filled it with ale before leaving the room. She wasn’t normally inclined to drink during the day but if she was going to be sitting down the men and expected to make conversation she would need something to occupy her hands - if not give her the strength she needed to get through an entire meal. She followed the sound of laughter down the hall and into a much larger room filled with long wooden tables, benches on either side. The men were gathered around one nearest the windows and she took a seat on the same side as Murtagh.

The man simply glanced at her while Rupert smiled and Angus continued with his story uninterrupted. Claire ran a hand over the oak table as she took a sip from her mug. It had recently been polished but there were scuffs and dings that told her many meals had been enjoyed here over the years.

“What about you, Claire?”

She looked up in surprise. All three of them were looking at her and she cringed internally. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

“What are yer plans for Christmas day?” Rupert tilted his head as something occurred to him. “How long are you staying in Inverness for?”

“I’ll still be here for Christmas but I don’t plan on doing anything in particular.”

“Och,” Rupert leaned back. “Not doing anything. I wish I could just do nothin’.”

Angus elbowed him in the side. “What are ye talkin’ about? Ye always do nothin’. Christmas Day ain’t gonnae be any different.”

Rupert opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, apparently shocked speechless by the accusation. Eventually he managed to spit out a “ _What?_ ”

“What do ye mean ‘what’? It’s amazin’ ye’re still on the team considerin’ how little ye train. And ye get _paid_ tae do that.”

“Mince. I train the exact same amount as you, ye...”

With a laugh Claire turned to look at Murtagh. He seemed bored of the conversation, if anything, but eventually he pulled a stop to it when it looked like the fight was going to become physical, reminding them of what should fall upon them if anything in the room was broken while Mrs Fitz. was on site.

After that, the conversation moved on to more mundane topics including the weather, whether Willie might finally ask Stacey out on a date and, eventually, what their new clubrooms down south might be like. Would they have their pictures hanging up above their individual lockers? A large flat screen on the wall? Or would it, perhaps, be a small dark room somewhere out the back? Claire couldn’t help but stare and it must have become obvious for Angus soon turned to her and asked what she was thinking about.

“Honestly? I’m a little surprised. None of you seem overly... _upset_ about losing out on any new sponsorship. About having to move.”

“It’s nae surprise,” Rupert mumbled around his mug.

Claire put down her own. “What do you mean?”

Rupert looked back confused. “I’m surprised Jamie didnae tell ye.”

“Tell me what, exactly?”

“It’s no’ about finding the money.”

 _Huh?_ “It’s not?”

Rupert laughed bitterly. “The League has so much money they could fix the Arena themselves and it would hardly make a dent in their bank account. They’ve been known to do such things too, when needed. The… _problem_ , here, is how unlikely said investment would return a profit. Especially so far north. The Arena has limited seating which means limited ticket sales. And that’s all they really care about: money.”

“I thought ye just said it wasnae ‘bout the money,“ Angus pointed out and Rupert threw him a glare that had the man holding his hands up in apology.

“ _Making_ money, then,” Rupert turned back to Claire. “Fact of the matter is they would prefer the Badgers move to one of the bigger cities not because there’s better facilities or it would mean teams spending less time on the road but because _that’s_ where the money is.” He held out a thumb. “More seats.” And then a forefinger. “More advertising space.”

“More sales,” Claire continued for him.

Rupert tilted and bobbed his head in subdued approval. “They’ve been wanting us to move for some time now, but they cannae force a team to do so without good reason. We kent the time would come eventually when we would have to go to battle, as it were, we just...” he sighed, “didnae expect them to force our hand sae soon.”

“Bastards,” Murtagh growled. “The lot of them.”

“Aye,” Angus chugged the last of his mug and slammed it back down on the table. “Waitin’ ‘til right before the holidays. When most businesses are closing up and unwilling to travel farther than they have to. That’s a real fu-”

Rupert cut him off quickly with, what looked to Claire, a rather hard pat on the back. “Bunch of suits arenae worth thinkin’ about. No’ the Board. No’ any of the sponsors. We’ve never needed their approval and we sure as hell dinnae need it now.” He looked pointedly at Claire, then. “No matter what we do, no matter how many of these so-called ‘hoops’ we jump through for ‘em, they willnae be happy until we’re under their control.”

“You’ve known it was inevitable, all along?” Claire wondered out loud. “But you’ve been putting in so much effort.”

Murtagh looked like he couldn't believe he had to explain such a simple thing and she coloured slightly. “Inevitable it may be. Doesnae mean we’re going down without a fight.”

The conversation ceased when Mrs Fitz. walked in, one arm laden with bowls and plates and the other pushing a trolley. She set the plates and cutlery down in front of each of them and then began pulling out containers of all different shapes and sizes and placing them in the middle.

When she turned to leave Claire called out to her. “Won’t you be joining us, Mrs Fitz.?”

“Oh, I dinnae usually… Weel,” Mrs Fitz. checked her watch, her cheeks growing rosy with pleasure. “I suppose I have time to sit for a minute or two.”

Murtagh kicked Angus under the table and with a harrumph that equalled those she had often heard from Murtagh, himself, Angus shifted down the bench closer to Rupert. Mrs Fitz. sat down in the vacated space and pulled one of the spare bowls towards her.

“It’s been a while since I’ve sat wi’ everyone. I thank ye.”

It was a simple arrangement that Mrs Fitz had prepared but it was no less delicious. Claire helped herself to some leek and tattie soup before dishing some bangers and roast vegetables onto her plate. Mrs Fitz. hadn’t listened when she protested against the woman adding more to her plate claiming she had consumed enough, insisting it would go to waste otherwise. Looking at Rupert and Angus on the other side, practically shovelling the food into their mouths made her doubt that very much. Still, she ate it with good grace, albeit very slowly in order to avoid being made to suffer a third helping.

Soon after the food had all but cleared the men departed. Claire stared at the mess left behind with apprehension.

“Not the kind to clean up after themselves, I take it?”

Mrs Fitz. chuckled as she started stacking the dirty plates. “Oh, they ken well what I would say should they hang about.”

Claire couldn’t help herself, she had to ask, “What’s that?”

“That I’ve another list just fer them if they’re so keen to be underfoot.”

Thinking of the list she, herself, had seen earlier she suddenly didn't begrudge the men's choice quite so much.

After helping Mrs Fitz clean up the dishes from lunch Claire wandered through the halls, exploring all of the open rooms. All of them were beautiful and she spent most of her time studing at the artwork that adorned the walls but it was the north facing balcony on the second floor that really took her fancy. There was very little sun but the view was just incredible.

Castle Leoch, despite its ruins, stood tall and mighty. Proud, even. It was hard to believe that not three weeks ago she had been walking through what was left of the Castle, Frank by her side. Back then she hadn’t seen what she could see now from this distance. It was a place full of memories, both the good and the bad. It had a history that, generations later, the MacKenzie Clan held close - quite literally - and not unlike the Arena, it had once held a community together.

“Quite the sight, is it no’?”

Claire glanced over as Murtagh came to stand beside her. He didn’t look at her though, as he rested his arms on the railing and looked out at the landscape in front of them. His position was casual enough but she knew very well he had come out here for a reason other than the view.

“That was a kind thing ye did back there. Invitin’ ol’ Mrs Ftiz. to sit wi’ us.”

Claire glanced over at him again, this time in question. “You seem surprised.”

“She hasnae taken food wi’ us fer a long while now. Usually says she prefers to eat in the kitchen.”

“Considering how Rupert and Angus eat like they haven’t seen food in days, I can’t say I’m all that surprised,” Claire joked.

Murtagh, however, didn’t seem to be in the mood for joking about.

“Ye seem to have an interesting effect on people,” he said seriously. After a moment's pause he continued. “And Rupert and Angus… eejits they may be… they’re also right. The suits willnae be happy nae matter what we do - or don’t do. What they’re saying online? It’ll be forgotten within the week when the naysayers find something else to complain about. It was simply the excuse they were looking for. If not for this, it would have been somethin’ else.”

“I have to admit, Murtagh, that doesn’t make me feel much better about the situation.”

“Good thing I’m no’ trying to make ye feel better then, isn’t it.”

“Then what _are_ you trying to say?”

He didn’t answer straight away and Claire waited, knowing her patience would pay off eventually. “We need someone like you around. _Jamie_ needs someone like you around.” 

Claire opened her mouth to argue, to remind him of just what her being ‘around’ had done for both Jamie and the Arena, but Murtagh simply looked at her with a dark eyebrow raised and she hesitated. Seemingly pleased, he looked back out at the horizon.

“He needs a woman, not a lassie. And _Laoghaire_ will be a girl until she's 50.” _Ah. He knew, then, about what had happened._ “I've been around long enough to ken the difference very well, and so do you, lass.”

She didn’t even try to argue this time. She knew very well what he said was true. Laoghaire was young and foolish. Incredibly selfish. And her inability to handle her jealousy in a mature and responsible manner was blatantly obvious. It didn’t change how she felt, though, or how troubled she was by how unexpected Laoghaire’s actions had been and she said as much out loud.

He looked at her as if she were stupid. And perhaps, she was starting to think, she was. He lifted a shoulder in what might have been a half hearted shrug. 

“People can show you whatever they want. But that’s neither here nor there. It’s how they make you...” Murtagh’s face twisted and she thought he looked like he was going to be ill but with a deep breath he continued, “ _feel_ that counts. And how you make them feel, too.”

“Has Jamie... said anything to you?”

Murtagh shook his head. “But I’ve seen how happy the two of ye are when ye’re together. And I havenae seen him that happy in a verrae long time.” He stood and turned to actually face Claire for the first time since he had come out here. “It would be a shame to waste what time ye do have together, short as it may be.” And with that he walked away.

Claire didn’t linger much longer, the cold starting to seep into her bones, not that Mrs Fitz would have given her the chance even if she had wanted to. Soon enough she was being guided back into the little box, Mrs Fitz. called a blue car and there was so much rolling through her mind that she suspected the nausea she felt in her throat on the way back to Inverness had very little to do with the woman’s driving at all.

Their goodbyes were quick and simple when they finally pulled up in front of the B&B and despite returning at a reasonably early hour, it didn’t take Claire long to decide on retiring for the night.

She was cold and she was tired and lying down on soft thick pillows underneath multiple layers of blankets was all she wanted. And so, she tended to the fire, folded the throw blanket that lay crumpled on the couch and, finally, picked up her empty tea cup and saucer sitting on the side table. On her way to the kitchen sink she paused in front of the vintage calendar, two figurines waiting for her. She put down her tea ware and picked both of them up.

The little snowflake was plain and simple but the three wise men who stood grouped together were a colourful bunch. 

Murtagh, Angus and Rupert crossed her mind. 

She chuckled. Wise was not a word often used to describe either of the three but after their conversation today she could appreciate the resemblance - if only for a minute. She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip as her thoughts travelled to Jamie. She put down the figurines and walked over to her phone that was now sitting on the side table, plugged into its charger.

Not wanting to linger on how exactly her phone came to be fully charged - although she suspected Mrs Fitz to be the culprit - she pulled out the plug and switched it on. 

There were 3 voice messages. 

_Claire. It’s Jamie. Can ye please call me when ye get this._

_Claire. It’s Jamie again. Ye’re probably busy right now… but if ye could please give me a call when ye get this I would verrae much appreciate it._

_Claire, I ken ye probably dinnae want to talk to me right now. And that’s alright. I’ve made a right mess o’ things, I ken verrae well. But please,_ he sounded almost desperate and she felt something twist inside of her, _just… don’t leave town before I’ve had the chance to talk to ye… Please, Claire. Call me._

And one text message, sent just two hours ago.

_Claire. There’s a special event happening at the Arena tomorrow at 10.30am and it would mean a lot to all of us if you joined us. Should you decide to come, I’ll be waiting on the front steps beforehand. Jamie._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: ‘People can show you whatever they want. But it’s how they make you feel that counts. And how you make them feel, too.’ is a direct quote from The Holiday Calendar. Undoubtedly a bit mushy for Murtagh’s liking but he does like to show his softer side every now and again, so *shrugs* Add in a small dash of 1x02 Castle Leoch and 1x03 The Way Out and things are finally happening… and with only 3 chapters to go no, less! 
> 
> Any guesses as to what is happening at 10.30am tomorrow?


	23. Wreath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, life hit me real hard these past few days but finally we have a new chapter! Thank you for waiting and feel free to pop by my tumblr page (thetranquilteal) anytime - especially if it seems I've deserted the place. It's where I will post any non-chapter related updates. A x

Going to bed early had been a mistake. That much was clear.

She had thought she had still been dreaming when she found the vintage calendar’s latest offering, in fact. A wreath. _A freaking wreath_ . _JHRC_. As if she needed any more reminders of what had happened recently. It was with a scrunched nose and pursed lips she had added it next to the others on the mantle. 

Hours had passed since then and so too, thankfully, had the cloudy haze of sleep. 

Claire studied herself in the bathroom mirror. Having woken up just after four, she’d had too much time on her hands and as a result was now sporting an elaborate (although seemingly casual) up do, perfectly symmetrical eye makeup and just a touch of blush. After a decade of mostly wearing plain coloured scrubs, fatigues and, on occasion, a dress uniform she had quickly found delight in dressing up each day, taking the time to style her hair and add more than the most basic layer of makeup to her face. But this was too much. 

She glanced at her watch and sighed. She still had another two hours to fill before heading to the Arena.

She patted her hair once more and twisted her head this way and that, almost hoping for a curl to fall out of place just so that she might have something to focus on. No such luck, however. She didn’t look half bad, all in all, and while she hoped no-one would look at her today and _think_ she had put hours of effort into her appearance, lest they also think her superficial or trying too hard but… she would be lying if she said she wouldn’t mind all that much if one person in particular did. 

Frank had never noticed - or said anything, at least - when she had put in more than her standard effort and she had always appreciated that about him. She wanted to be known and, hopefully, respected for her skills and her knowledge rather than her looks and her actually wanting Jamie to notice was… rather unsettling, to say the least. 

_I’ve made a right mess o’ things, I ken verrae well._ His words had been playing on her mind ever since she had heard them last night. 

_..made a right mess o’ things._

What did he mean by that, exactly?

* * *

According to her watch it was a quarter past ten when the front steps to the Arena came into view and, just as Jamie had promised, he was standing there waiting on the top step. She slowed down, taking some time to watch him from afar. 

He looked nervous if not a little stressed as he greeted people walking up . He wasn’t his usual talkative self, she noticed, opting to exchange short sentences if not just a smile and a nod. 

The moment he spotted her his demeanour changed and something like relief flooded his face. He jogged down the steps to greet her on the sidewalk, his grin radiating pure happiness, and suddenly she knew showing up had been the right thing to do. She smiled back. 

“Good morning, Jamie.”

“Good morning, Sassenach.” 

There was a moment of awkward silence and he blushed. The colour on his cheeks matched the end of the nose and she wondered just how long he had been waiting out on the front steps. Suddenly she felt guilty for not replying to his text message the night before to let him know she would be coming.

“I’m sorry-” “I’m sorry-” 

They both closed their mouths at the same time and Jamie scratched at the curls brushing against his neck and chuckled. “Thank ye fer coming today, Sassenach.”

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“Och, no.” 

_A blatant lie if ever she heard one._ Instead of annoying her though, it pulled a smile from her lips. “I’m glad. You said there’s an event happening this morning. Is it part of the Festival?”

Jamie shook his head. “It’s rather last minute actually. It’s - weel… it’s probably best I dinnae try to explain it in words and let ye see fer yerself.”

Claire looked at her watch. “Well, it’s almost 10.30.”

A look of panic came over him and he jerked to look up at the entrance door. “Shite. Och! My apologies, Sassenach. I have tae be in there before it starts. We’ll talk after, aye?”

Claire nodded and, unlike the last time she had done so, she meant it. He offered her his hand and led the way inside. Just as they reached the function room he let go and placed his hand on her lower back lightly. He guided her to a free seat next to Mrs Graham and then made his own way up to the front to where Dougal was standing to the side of a large projector screen.

Claire undid the buttons on her coat and put her bag underneath her seat. She leaned over slightly and whispered, “Do you know what this is about?”

“Oh, aye,” Mrs Graham whispered back with a glance. “I ken, but this is the first time any of us will actually be seeing it,” she patted Claire’s knee. “I’m verrae glad you’re here to keep me company.”

More curious than ever, Claire looked around the room. Almost every seat had been filled with familiar faces. Most, she noticed, reflected the expectant look on Mrs Graham’s but one or two held a look of pure curiosity. On the other side of the room she spotted Laoghaire sitting next to a tight lipped Mrs Fitz and she felt her stomach twist. The young woman looked over suddenly and their eyes met. While they held no chagrin, as Claire might have hoped, they certainly lacked the fire she had seen the day of the Showcase. A pointed nudge from Mrs Fitz. had the Laoghaire looking away and Claire did the same. 

Jamie cleared his throat. 

“Good morning everyone. Thank ye all fer coming today. It was rather short notice, I ken,” there was a chuckle from the crowd and Jamie smiled, “And I thank ye, also, fer coming together not just over the past few days but for as long as this Arena has been standing. Without you, this wouldnae been possible. None of it would. And so, without further ado, I present the short version of our documentary that is currently in production, the version that is scheduled to be posted on social media later today.” The title came up on the screen behind him and he read it out loud. 

“ **_Northern Magic: A Tribute to the Team, the Arena and the Community_ ** **.** ”

People clapped as Jamie took his seat. There was a hoot or two coming from the back corner but they ceased rather quickly when the culprits received a stern look or two from Dougal. The video started to play. 

It started with a montage of clips. McCormack 95 slowly walking onto the ice, players high fiving young fans in the crowds, Mackenzie 03 scoring and the team celebrating the winning goal. A press conference, an empty arena, the hall of fame. Black and white footage of the players being interviewed, coach yelling from the sideline, the goalkeeper making an incredible save. Pre-game huddle, fans cheering, the captain accepting the league trophy. 

The official opening of the Inverness Ice Arena. 

“ _Built in 1936, Inverness Ice Arena is one of the oldest rinks in the country and currently the oldest to host a professional team… The Northern Badgers,”_ The voice over cut to Christopher Nicol, League Hall of Fame (1972). _“I can still remember standing on the sidelines, next to my father and my two older brothers, watching the players walk onto the ice for the very first time. I must have been only six or seven at the time. That was the moment I decided I wanted to become a Badger.”_

The clips kept coming, interspersed with sound bites. 

_“Nichols... drives one low! What a goal!”_ , the entire Arena celebrating, the captain nodding as the coach gives a rather aggressive motivational speech during half time. Team members shaking hands with stern looking men in suits, players skating down the ice, _“That’s it! They’ve done it! The Northern Badgers have won the cup for the very first time! Just look at the crowd, Joe… have ye ever seen anything like it?”_

Before long the clips, sound bites and interviews segwayed into personal anecdotes and memorable moments from the likes of Lyall Gillespie, Former Northern Badgers General Manager; Blaire Martin, Former Sports Editor at The Inverness Times; Dougal Mackenzie, Coach; Davie Beaton, Team Physician; and Martha Cunningham, Historian at Inverness Museum and Art Gallery. 

Sitting in the locker room, Fraser 23 smiling in relief as he wiped the sweat from his brow, filing onto an old bus, _“...the flood of 1982 that saw the team temporarily adopted by the not-so nearby Dundee”_.

And from there to community work. Players and team members partaking in charity runs, coaching the kids teams, packing boxes full of food, visiting the local hospital, donating blood… and Colum MacKenzie’s stern face came into focus.

 _“There’s only one things that is as important as the game and that’s the community. If there’s one thing we want to be known for - other than winning, that is - it’s our incredible community.”_ \- Colum MacKenzie, General Manager

 _“The Arena has been home for a lot of people over the years. Myself included. And bringing that cup home? There’s no better feeling. Everything we do is for them. Not just our families but for all the people here in the Highlands.”_ \- Jack McCormack, Four-time League Cup Champion

 _“Community work has always been a top priority for the Badgers. For decades now it’s been a long standing tradition for the team to make house calls as part of our community work but the current captain, James Fraser? He’s well known for going above and beyond for the people in the outer shires. It’s very important to have a leader that embodies all that we aspire to be. That’s exactly what Jamie does._ ” - Marcas Lobhdain, Former Northern Badgers General Manager. 

Jamie came on screen, a soft smile on his face. 

_“I ken what it’s like to live in the remote Highlands, and being in need of help. The day Johnny Rattray came out, a few days after my Ma - and baby brother - passed away to deliver goods… I was young, ken, but even now I can remember the look of relief on my Da’s face knowing that he didn’t have to worry about feeding Willie, Jenny and I that night,”_ he shrugged slightly and swallowed thickly _. “I want to make sure every person, every family, kens help will be there when they need it, no matter how far away or how impossible it might seem.”_ \- James Fraser, Current Captain

After a montage of various community activities another familiar face appeared, grumpy old Harrison Innes of all people, looking healthier if not happier than when she had seen him last.

 _“For years now, Jamie’s been visiting us folk up in the remote hills. Every team in the league does community work. That’s a given. But he leads a group of people that care about more than posing for the cameras or writing their name on a giant cheque. They care about the health and happiness of every single person in this community. Both he and his lass, they willnae take ‘no’ fer an answer, I ken verrae well,”_ Harrison scoffed and the scowl on his face deepened. A second later it cleared the way for what could be called a smile. If you turned your head to the left and squinted, perhaps. _“But I’m better off because of it. I’m... verrae grateful.”_ \- Harrison Innes, Outer Shires Resident.

His image gave way for Lorna MacDonald. 

_“Every minute of every day there’s a Badger out there doing something for the community. Be it delivering groceries to a little auld lady like myself or collecting winter coats to give to the children, ye ken they’re always up tae something.”_ Lorna held up a scrapbook filled with newspaper clippings. _“Throughout my career, I’ve taken a lot of photos at a lot of events. My favourite were always of the Badgers off the ice. Soup kitchens. Charity runs. Hospital visits. This community wouldn’t be what it is without them.”_ \- Lorna MacDonald, Photographer (Retired), The Inverness Times

And then Blake Greyson.

 _“From the very beginning it was made clear that you don’t have to play ice hockey to be a Badger.”_ The picture cut to more footage as Blake continued to speak. _“That people from all walks of life… it doesn’t matter your age, your gender, your skin colour, your sexual orientation, your location... There is always a place for you at the table. And over the years that table has only gotten bigger and bigger.”_ Blake laughed. _“It’s a wonderful thing to witness.” -_ Blake Greyson, Designer and Outer Shires Resident

And so it continued...

 _“When I look at the Arena... I see hard work, discipline, blood, sweat and tears. Sacrifice. Commitment. The community that inspires us and makes it all worth it. Win or lose… it doesn’t matter. When the final buzzer goes and the game is over…”_ Jack gestured to the framed images hanging on the way behind him. _“this is what you’re left with. It has been a privilege and an honor to have been a part of it.”_ \- Jack McCormack, Four-time League Cup Champion

 _“What we have? There’s no words to explain it. It’s… it’s something magical.”_ \- Rhea Greig, General Manager

 _“It won’t matter where the Northern Badgers are. We will always play for our people.”_ \- Rupert MacKenzie, Defenceman

The trophy cabinet, the team celebrating, the team logo.

Webpage, social media accounts, with thanks.

The screen returned to white as the film ended. It had been short but concise, no more than 10 minutes long. Thought provoking, if nothing else.

From the title she had guessed this wasn’t just a tribute but also a carefully planned PR response to the online witchcraft allegations, but after seeing hers and Fergus’ wreaths and swags in the background of a lot of the interviews she had no doubt. What did surprise her, however, was seeing herself on screen. It was just a flash of her and Ned cheering on the Badgers at the away game but it caught her attention all the same. It was Harrison Innes, though, that had made her eyes moisten.

A round of applause brought Claire out of her stupor. 

She looked around and it was clear to see many had had equally emotional reactions to the footage, more than a few people were dabbing their eyes with a handkerchief or comforting their neighbour. 

Jamie made his way to the front once again and waited patiently for the crowd to settle.

“Now, I willnae keep ye long, I promise. But... what did ye think?” Another round of applause sounded and Jamie grinned. “I need to thank Samuel Millar, first, for helping us film interviews and then putting all of this together fer us. From watching these ten minutes, alone, we ken the full documentary is going to be brilliant. Next, I want to thank everyone who participated in the interviews and those of you who dug through yer drawers and cupboards for recordings, photos and memorabilia for us to use. We really have the most wonderful community,” while the smile remained on Jamie’s face a shadow fell across it. “And we’re sad to see the Arena coming to a close but... we will _never_ compromise our values or our beliefs, no’ for anything.” 

A few people clapped while one or two went so far as to verbalise their agreement.

“That’s right.”

“Aye, no’ fer anythin’.”

Jamie continued. “The happiness and the safety of our people has always taken priority over the demands of outsiders who are only interested in profit or image. And it always will. We should be proud of who we are and all that we do. _Whimsical or witchcraft._ ” Many in the crowd chuckled and Jamie winked at Claire. Laoghaire, she noticed in the corner of her eye, shifted in her seat uncomfortably. _And so she damn well should._ “Again I thank you for all that ye’ve done no’ only for me and mine but for everyone in our community. All that’s left to do now is make this a Christmas to remember. So… let’s get to it.” 

Claire waited for those around her to vacate their seat before standing and making her way to the side of the room. Not even two minutes later Jamie joined her.

“You did all of this?” 

“Wi’ help, aye”

That didn’t surprise her, not really. What she really wanted to know was, “Did you do that on purpose? Include me in it?”

Jamie shook his head. “I might have helped organise it but I had nothing tae do wi’ it. We sent off all the footage we had. This is what came back. Ye’re a part of this community, Sassenach. Whether ye like it or no’.”

Purposefully ignoring the last part she tilted her head and asked, “And the wreaths and the swags? In the background?”

The corners of his mouth tugged upward. “Strategic placement?” His lips dropped and his face hardened as he became serious. “I made a real mess o’ things, Sassenach. I asked ye tae include yer wreaths and wee herbs in the video we recorded. And then I didnae chase after ye when ye left the Arena the day of the Showcase. Didnae go knocking at yer door when I should have.”

“You were needed down at the rink the day of the Showcase,” Claire reminded him. “And you had a game of your own the next day. I don’t think you should be blaming yourself for that.”

“Weel… no. Perhaps ye’re right,” he flicked his thumb over his bottom lip and looked away for a moment. “But... it was my fault the potential sponsors pulled out and it was my fault, again, fer letting you think it was yers. I needed to do something to put it tae rights. All of it.” 

“So, you made a documentary? In just a few days?” It was almost unbelievable, really. 

“Not all of it,” Jamie argued, chagrined. The tips of his ears turned pink and she had come to rather like the shade, she thought. “We had already been talking about it - putting somethin’ together, that is - and so it wasnae as hard to get things started as it couldae been. When everyone found out what had happened, weel, ten minutes worth o’ footage didnae seem that too big of a task.”

“You didn’t really do all of that for me, though.”

“I did it for everyone,” he amended. He looked at her intently. “Including you.”

Claire felt a lump form in her throat and she swallowed around it. Unable to maintain contact, she broke away to look around the room. The few people who remained smiled at her and she looked down and then back at Jamie.

Perhaps prompted by her sudden awkwardness, he titled his head towards the side door. “Maybe we should…”

She nodded and they exited the main room to a more secluded area empty of everything except a couple of cartons and random hockey equipment scattered here and there.

“What’s this room used for?” She asked curiously, eager to fill the silence now that they had some resemblance of privacy. They had left the door open - she could only imagine how those they had left behind might gossip had they not done so - and she was hesitant to ask what was really on her mind.

“Mmm… I dinnae ken.” He went and pulled the lid off one of the cartons. He put it back on. “Nothing important, apparently.”

They stood there looking at each other a moment. Jamie shifted on his feet. 

“You said-” “I didn’t-”

 _Not again._ They both laughed and Claire felt the tension start to leave her shoulders. Jamie gestured for her to speak first. 

She fiddled with the corner of one of the cartons on the shelf next to her. “I have to admit, when you said, in your voicemail, you had ‘made a right mess of things’... I thought perhaps…”

“Ye thought..?”

“All kinds of nefarious scenarios to be honest,” Saying it out loud… _Damn._ she was already regretting saying anything. Oh, well. Nothing for it, really. “Like.. my being here and spending time with you was treading on someone else’s toes.” At Jamie’s confused look she continued. “That there might be someone else - another woman - and _perhaps_ you were feeling.. guilty for not telling me about said person.”

All that came from him was “Huh?”

Claire sighed internally. She would have to be direct, it seemed. “Laoghaire, perhaps?” 

“Laoghaire? What’s she got to do wi’ any of this?”

“Well, that’s what I’m not sure about exactly. You’re not… in a relationship with her?” Jamie just stared at her unblinkingly. _No? Okay._ “Haven’t given her the impression that it might be a possibility... maybe?”

At that, Jamie shook his head emphatically. “No. No. I-” He fumbled with his words then took a breath and stated clearly, “There is no one else, Claire.” He frowned. “Has she said something to you?

“Nothing of importance.” _And wasn’t that the truth._

He studied her for a moment before asking, “Are you sure?” 

She nodded confidently, happy for this line of conversation to be over even if it did make her feel a little bit better, the shadow of a thought that had been in the back of her mind dissipating into nothingness.

“I…” Jamie rubbed his cheek with the palm of his hand and looked around the room as if searching for something. “What ye’re askin’... it’s no’ even a possibility. I’m a single parent. And when I’m no’ looking after Fergus I’m either at the rink or on the road. There hasnae been much time for anything else.”

“Hasn’t?” _As in past-tense?_

Jamie took a step forward and she had to tilt her head back slightly to look up at him. “If there’s one thing I have learned since I met you, Sassenach, it’s that if I want something bad enough I can find the time.”

She leaned in closer. “And what do you want Jamie?”

He trailed the back of his fingers from her cheek down to her jawline and her lips parted as her heartbeat quickened. He opened his mouth to say something and a thump came from the main room. A round of laughter followed. Claire jerked in surprise and they pulled apart, both suddenly remembering they weren’t as alone as it seemed in the small room. 

Jamie closed his eyes and chuckled self-deprecatingly. He shook his head and then opened them again, a determined glint shining through. “On the 24th Colum’s hosting a dinner party for the team. Would you do me the honour of attending with me, as my guest?”

She didn’t even have to think that over. “I would love to.” And then she panicked. “But I don’t have a dress for the occasion.” 

“Ah, Mrs Fitz. would be pleased to see to that straight away, I’m sure.”

Speaking of Mrs Fitz. and Colum’s manor house… Claire suddenly had a sneaking suspicion. “You asked Mrs Fitz to take me to the Manor yesterday, didn’t you?”

“No...”

“...no?”

“Not… exactly.” Claire crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him in question. “I _may_ have… said something about being worried ye might leave town before I had the chance tae speak to ye and Mrs Fitz _may_ have overheard…“

“And you have no control over what Mrs Fitz. does?” she finished for him.

“Aye, exactly” he nodded happily and then added, “The same goes for Murtagh, too.”

Claire dropped her arms and laughed. “ _That_ I can believe. What ever would you have done if I hadn’t turned up today?”

Jamie shrugged as though completely unperturbed by the idea. “I would have moved onto Plan B.”

“Which was?”

“Sending you the link on social media over and over again until you either watched it or contacted me to ask me to stop. I would have been happy with either.”

“How lucky for the both of us you didn’t have to resort to that.”

“I’m starting to believe that I am, Sassenach. Lucky, that is.”

Just then, as if just to prove Jamie wrong one last time, Fergus popped up by their side.

She smiled knowingly at Jamie. “Hello Fergus. Comment ça va?” [How’s it going?]

Fergus lifted one shoulder and said casually, “Bof, ça pourrait être pire.” [Meh, it could be worse.] A scoff from Jamie had him donning his crooked grin. “You will be joining us for the Christmas Party tomorrow, won’t you, Milady?”

“You think I’d miss a party? With you two? Not likely.” She looked back and forth between them. “I heard there’s still lots to do before tomorrow. I suppose we should get to work, then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: a lot of ice hockey tributes and documentaries were consumed during the writing of this chapter. I hope ‘Northern Magic’ came across okay in written format (and you didn’t think the title was too lame lol).
> 
> OMG the private conversation in the side room wasn’t even supposed to happen let alone ANOTHER almost!kiss *face palm* Please don’t hate me for it and instead let me distract you with a question or two: Do you think they have what it takes to pull off one last Inverness Ice Arena Christmas? And what about this dinner invitation? Sound promising to me ;)


End file.
